a poem about a world in which we seem to live

If you head hurts and your hands are weary with this world, I'm there too.

This.

This news,
It's hard to read.
Let alone believed.

This war,
It's clear to see.
Their child of greed.

This man,
It's crimes has he.
For locks, but not for key.

Actually - the entire comment is good...

The Fine Arts

You can go to flash places to eat,
Or faraway countries to stay.

But the best kind of doing is nothing,
And I like to practise each day.

The Undeserving

See here my home,
Birds full of plastic.

See here their home,
Watch children get blasted.

See here your home,
Applaud rising of fascists.

See here our home.
Nothing, not one thing,
has lasted.

“I’m sad to say just yesterday we blew [the record] out of the water, and our new record holder is 778 pieces of plastic in an 80-day-old seabird chick, in one of the most pristine corners of our planet.”
www.abc.net.au/news/2025-05...

Sounds

Across the way,
a too loud television.
Doors down, they're practising drums.
His collar on the hardwood floor.
A soft wind whispers the Grevillea.
Birds, I don't know and those I do.
In the distance, the rhythm of unceasing waves.
And in my head, again, forget-me-nots.

Holidays

Awaken from the sun.
Unalarmed.
The others, softly sleeping still.
The dog and I, padding around.
A weak sun strains through clouds; warms my shoulders.
Coffee and words.
A day holds its promises close.

Moon beams on your face,
Catch mine, all these miles away.
Looking, seeing, you.

Stuff

Books. Music. Trees.
A tin roof in the rain.
My old blue hoodie;
Matching jeans from Nowhere.
The kettle whistling.
All I ever wanted.
All I ever needed.

And you.

DION ~ RUNAROUND SUE YouTube video by Dion

DiMucci

www.youtube.com/watch?v=ik57...

Blame it all on Dion

Every election. Every western country. Same narrative from the right. And somehow* this shit still gets them over the line.

*Depressingly low levels of public media literacy, and a complicit commentariat, bound by their employment contracts to billionaire oligarchs...

Major/minor With a minority government more than likely, why are the major parties abandoning the issues that voters care about?

Why Indeed?

www.themonthly.com.au/issue/2025/a...

I hope all the Australians rightly horrified by Trump ripping people from their homes and deporting them/holding them in indefinite detention…but thinking this couldn’t happen here can remember what Dutton did to the family from Biloela, including two tiny girls born here.

On doing the same inadequate shit over and over again until the end of democracy - The Shot The consequence of not good enough, as evidenced in the United States right now, is that you inevitably get much, much worse.

Here's me. 'On doing the same inadequate shit over and over again until the end of democracy'

Is this called a Dicken Schnitzel?

What will the fuel excise cut save you? Not as much as the Treasurer says Josh Frydenberg says halving the fuel excise will save a family with two cars $700. Our calculations show for most households it will be less.

If pump prices are deregulated what stops a retailer increasing their margin to offset the excise reduction so there is no or little change to price?

Also this, from a previous time this policy was spruiked 👉 theconversation.com/what-will-th...

Tim McGraw - Humble And Kind (Official Music Video) YouTube video by TimMcGrawVEVO

Been coming back to Lori McKenna's poem, Humble and Kind a lot lately.

Here's a bit of it:

Hold the door, say please, say thank you.
Don't steal, don't cheat, and don't lie.
I know you got mountains to climb,
But always stay humble and kind.

Tim McGraw did a version:
youtu.be/awzNHuGqoMc?...

One Day

It's just one day,
Same as any other.
I stay put. Quiet.
Wait for it to pass.

The majors party on.
Carefree, dancing on graves.
They have their beliefs.
My troubles are mine.

The afternoon grows long,
Hot, humid.
A wide brown land,
Heaves and sighs its grief.
Shifts toward the east.

“SHCOOL” painted on roadway leading to buildings ahead.

sean connery’s alma mater

You can hear the blood in your veins if you listen vericosely.

It's where the last bite should go

Rail-Roaded

It’s an old and troubled line,
I’m walking.
The railroad tracks,
Crumbling at my feet.

And in a most forgotten rhyme,
I’m talking.
The music cracks,
Twinkling to the beat.

A close watch on this heart of mine?
I’m baulking.
The decks were stacked,
Love's bleeding in the heat.

Whispering

Through the shifting ether,
Where all of dreams seem real,
Illicit love takes hold.

And that is where I meet you,
The shadowy, whispering realm,
To join not bodies, but in souls.

Just Before

Just before dawn,
First light creeping
Over curtains.

Awake and dreamy,
For sleep has left
Me now.

Birds mark the start
With their songs.
The chimera of you,
Slips away again.

Each Year

At the end of December,
Each Year:
Expires at midnight.

And in those last hours,
At the end of
Each Year.
Come memories.

The one Eve, we met.

You dancing alone.

Your flowing black hair.

Now I barely recall,
what I cannot forget.
At the end of December,
Each Year.

A Husky wearing glasses, a blanket draped over him, stares down at a book.

“Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

“So you don’t want to play fetch, then?”

“I just don’t see the point, Steve.”