Thursday, December 18, 2008

The CrackBerry

In those moments where I find myself standing alone,
It only takes seconds to pull out my phone
I’m not checking the time, or a text from a mate
I’m just trying to look cool while I sit here and wait

I need something to do with my hands and my eyes,
Is she looking at me, what about those guys?
Where are my friends, the bus or the train?
On my own only my cell keeps me sane

Before the phone there was another distraction
A way to make sure there was never inaction
Constantly fidgeting because I’m too important to wait
There’s a high-powered meeting for which I’m obviously late.

Why do I feel this constant need to impress?
They’ll never see me again and I couldn’t care less
I’m only the centre of my own universe
She’s not interested in me, her head’s in her purse.

But what makes me so afraid of just standing and being
No matter who is looking, nobody is seeing
These moments alone are a misused gift
The chance to stop, reflect and let the mind drift.

So when the urge next strikes to stare into that screen
Instead I’ll think about how good my life has been
So limited is my stay on this earth
Its time to treasure these moments alone for all that they’re worth.

Written Dec 2008, to all the insecure people who fidgit while waiting alone in public (of which I am definitely one)

The Love Story – A Novel Romance

They say its not right to judge a book by its cover,
but if you aren't entranced from the outset will you ever really love her.
Sure its the chapters inside that capture your heart,
but you'll never make it that far, with no reason to start.

A book without a reader is just blank pages bound,
Its not until you look inside that the magic is found.
But no matter how pretty the jacket or tempting the blurb,
There is something bigger that makes the match superb.

A book chooses you as much as you a book,
It was across a crowded room, and yet you knew in just one look.
For years you had searched, seemingly to no avail,
Then just when you gave up, there was the perfect tale.

Was she big or small, her cover soft or hard
A Mills and Boon or a sonnet by the bard
Was she new or had her pages been turned by other guys?
Does it really even matter if she’s perfect in your eyes?

No matter how many times you’ll thumb through the same pages,
One book for the good times, the bad times and the rages,
The story is ever changing, each new page a surprise
Never on another book will you lay your eyes.

Though you used to like a genre, be it fact or fiction,
You can now say proudly, and with conviction
“Between these covers is the story of my life,
I don’t exist without it, without you, my wife.”

Written Dec 2008, what began as a silly couple of lines turned into an idea...

Bateau-pia

At 16 boys have nothing but sex on the brain
And parents, and pimples and the odd growing pain,
Trying to talk to girls, while discovering who you are,
Working out what’s “cool”, and how the hell you drive a car.
And yet somehow right in the middle of it all
They decide to throw you life’s biggest curve ball.
What’s you plan for your life, how will you get paid?
And no porn star is not an option, you’ve never even been laid.

So a clan of young boys, no different to most,
Found a refuge from these questions, up on the coast.
A haven of sun, surf, sand and beach,
Where the trials of reality were just out of reach.
A place you could get away and dare to dream big,
Sneak a forbidden drink or two and maybe even a cig.

Where the local girls were all preggers and everyone ate corn,
And Beautiful Bounty was the number one porn.
Where they’d never seen an Asian, but the fish and chips flowed,
And men with shotguns protected the signs on the road.
They’d pack up the cars and away from the parents they’d sneak
Each bringing something to the adventure that was a little unique:

Ali could drink his quota and maybe even a couple more,
Chris will tell you he was the X-Box champ, though no one kept score
Long legged Andy could sleep on the most short-legged chair
Pete was the hottie, but was losing his hair.
Gardos could chase down the ladies in his big red car
Though all he ever caught was Stu’s new camera.
Chong could microwave bread, for over an hour,
While Mark held the keys and subsequently all the power.
Smitty wielding a cricket ball kept any batsman in check,
And when the king’s cup came out, T hit the deck.

Cricket was played for hours, on the beach and tv,
Thoughts were on anything but the HSC
Girls were discussed, again and again,
Table tennis tables were destroyed by the rain
But it was the ability to escape and keep the pressure eased
That was the secret to their success, and kept their parents pleased.

So post-school the trips continued, a chance to catch up with the guys
Talk some smack, drink some beers, but soon they began to realise,
This jaunt had to be a little shorter then the last
And a little bit different from those of the past
New faces appeared, while others were lost
Food and booze were no longer rationed because of the cost

But the injection of the girl had the biggest impact,
An unspoken sign of having to clean up your act
Taking over the kitchen, assuming they were performing a favour
But removing the thrill of the challenge and the volatility of flavour
What started as a test of each boy, and his culinary skill,
Became no more than fast-food, take your plate and your fill.

In fact the whole dynamic changed a lot over the years
Of course there’s still sand and surf and plenty of beers
But the talk is of settling down, joining the race
Not of impossible dreams and the legs that they’ll chase

Don’t be sad, its just different, still plenty of fun,
But it bares no resemblance to how it begun

No one killed it though, it was a victim of life
The monster the boys tried to escape is what wielded the knife
It came so quickly and subtly that they failed to see,
There was no refuge from reality, down by the sea.

It was not protected from time, just look around
At what has become of their old stomping ground.

The race track is a home for the old and unwell,
The mighty roar of the ocean is no more than a swell
One day soon even the old house will be gone
But there is a place in their hearts where it will always live on
Cause even though some will return, and some never again
It will forever be the house that turned these boys into men.

Written Nov 2008, after a weekend up the coast with the boys (and girls)

Monday, December 15, 2008

punch drunk love

when she reminised, she kinda missed, the boy she kissed, when she was pissed.
on the floor, his moves were poor, but she was sure, she wanted more,
she caught his eye, he didn't know why, was kinda shy, he was her guy
she let the beer, control the fear, and moved in near, tried not to leer,
he was hot, they smiled a lot, and on that spot, both soon forgot,
the world outside, eyes wide, hands on her side, a wild ride
each change of stance, not just a dance, but a chance, of romance
the song got slow, he bent down low, she couldn't say no, wanted it so,
she felt the bass, her heart race, and face to face, they did embrace

they say, on holiday, you can play, and not have to pay,
but thats not true, though the hours were few, the cheque came due, she never knew
that in what begun, as just fun, her heart was won, by someone's son
and now she misses, the drunken kisses, and kinda wishes, she was his missus.

Written Dec 2008, an unusual poem to reflect an unusual relationship.

Friday, December 12, 2008

The 8:05

I have often found myself wondering, as the morning train pulls in
where exactly I am going and where it is that I have been.

For some it's about the journey, and for some the destination.
But surely it all depends, on the arrival station.

Is this where I thought I'd be, when I hopped onboard this morning
or has my trip been diverted, unbeknownst and without warning?

Have I been in control, of this journey I have made?
Or am I just an actor, and it's been a part I've played?

Who is the fat controller, whom dictates where I go?
And why is that the trip, is always so painstakingly slow?

Should I take an express, or another faster train?
But what am I trying to skip, through pleasure or through pain?

Would my life be different, if it involved another station?
Or would it be no more then a subtle variation?

I guess I'll never know, instead I'll just ride the 8:05,
It's not the most glamorous trip, but imagine if I had to drive!

Written in the summer of 2006, while an intern on the way to my first real job.

Trendy and Alone

As I sit surrounded
in a world that's left me behind,
I wonder if they are looking,
and if they are, just what they'll find.
I've never seen myself
through the eyes of another man,
never even seen a photo,
from which I haven't turned and ran.
Is this the new norm
for this chic world of ours,
to somehow feel alone,
in even the trendiest of bars?
People are like snowflakes
all of us unique,
so why is it only,
about others that we speak?
Why is there no longer time
to wander through one's soul,
and why only under drink,
is it possible to lose control?
If there is no point
to the superficial madness,
why does fitting in,
still fill the heart with gladness?
I have lived, and seen, and done
what most are yet to try,
and yet often feel,
that this world will pass me by.
I also have a dream
for a world not unlike this,
but in which people appreciate,
the simple things they miss.
I guess we'll never know
at least not for sure,
whether conformity is a disease,
rather than a cure.
And so we will leave it
to ponder another day,
time for me to join them,
and drink these thoughts away...
A poem I uncovered from years ago (possibly written in 2006), but oddly still relevant.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

the man without a plan

sheepishly he admits that there is no plan that has been laid
life has been the product of both good and bad decisions made
some dreams have been realised while others still remain
time sees a few grow stronger and lets the others wane

but can one's choices be decided in such an ad hoc fashion
can a life's direction be governed by only passion
shouldn't you have goals, each one carefully selected
or will you forever be haunted by the options you rejected

should you aim lower then you are able and achieve as you desire
can you live in potential's shadow and only dream of hitting higher
or should you set your sights up high, well above your weight class
and each time you jump you miss and land back down upon your ass

it really all depends on your definition of success
is it that the needs are satisfied, or by the level of excess
does the checking of all the boxes signify a life finally fulfilled
does the cup need to flow to the point of being spilled

or is it that you lived your life, and not just played a part
that you controlled the journey, it was not mapped out from the start....

Written Nov 2008, the alternative approach to the previous...

The Man with the Plan

Cautiously, he moves through life with plans but not a vision,
Vigilantly, he considers the consequence of each and every decision.
No action is to be taken until the facts have been collated,
The data never lies and as such each fear is in turn abated.

He is happy with his path because it “made the most sense”,
He ticked all the right boxes and watched others from the fence.
The epitome of rationality, caution and hesitation,
He fails to feel the extremes of depression and elation.

But in the quiet moments when he sits and reflects,
Does he see in his love of logic the very obvious defects?
Sure he has achieved everything, and exactly as he planned,
But life has run through his fingers as if it were grains of sand.

The future’s caught the present and it’s too late to enjoy what’s been amassed
There’s not a lot of time left, and there’s no comfort in the past.
Sure the wife, house and car, leave the Jones’s a little green
But there’s a hole in the perfect picture where the life should have been.

Written August 2008, trying to decide on how a life's direction should be determined.

Leaving

Light in the wallet but heavy of heart,
Its time to go home and make a fresh start.
The months felt like days, our heads are still spinning
Is this the end of a chapter or the next one’s beginning?

Are we different people from those that left in November?
It seems a lifetime ago, can you even remember
The cucumber salads, the jelly bean games,
The inability to remember everyone’s names.

The awkward conversations that plagued every table
Did you really think we’d make it? Were you sure you were able?
So now that it’s done and we’ve proven our worth
Will they welcome us back to the land of our birth?

Or will they look at us strangely if we eat with our hands
And grow weary of our tales of far off lands.
Will we fit back into the grooves from which we came?
Even though our grasp on reality may never be the same.

Of course they’ll have us back, even if we bore them to tears
And life will resume to just the same as it has been for years
Cause there’s no place like OZ, the home of your heart,
No more fitting place to end then back at the start.

But the kids won’t know the words to Resham Phiriri
And I doubt any will ask for your family tree,
And in those quiet moments when you allow yourself to sit and reminisce
You may well find it’s us and Nepal that you miss!

Written Feb 2008, for the girls I volunteered with as we headed home.

The Chaturale Challenge

The head rumbles, the stomach grumbles, the muscles roar,
The worker fumbles, the pick tumbles, the tears pour.
As the sun gets higher his hole becomes an oven,
He needs a shower, a night’s sleep and some lovin’.

Each day he wakes a little weaker than the last,
Still distracted by the nocturnal battle with his past.
With each swing, a pain cedes, replaced by another,
A more fierce and nasty version of its brother.

The sun is set, his quota met, the day is done,
With no regret, he’ll soon forget, all but the fun.
Despite the hard work his mood is light,
Long ago his body gave up the fight,

But it’s the earth and not his spirit that will be broken.

Written Jan 2008, volunteering in a rural village in Nepal.

Friday, November 28, 2008

The Shepherd and the Sphinx

Religion is a beautiful old monument like the pyramids or the great wall,
An eye-catching monstrosity built on the backs of the weak masses.
A testament to one man or being now standing idol,
Neither has with it today the purity of its intentions.

Just as the African offers trinkets to Gaza’s tourists,
The missionary hawks his wares to the African people.
Each buyer falls in love with the romanticism of the moment,
But removed from the preacher becomes weary of their purchase.

The pyramids failed,
Despite the devotion of the masses the pharaohs never made it to the after life
What wasn’t robbed from them as they slept is now ogled by busloads of heathens.

One man does not need a temple to be buried in, and no one book has all the answers.
The slaves of Egypt believed in their cause as much as the foot soldiers of God,
but each resigned themself to a bigger power that hadn’t their best interests at heart.

The pharaohs were not mere men but gods incarnate.
They brought fertility to a land, science to a people and a cause to the masses,
But exclusivity will always isolate, which in turn will breed hate.
Every idol is a false one, and no mortal contains within him a truth hidden from you or I.

Be good to your neighbour and they’ll do the same.
Black is black, white is white and grey is a challenge.
Question everything reasonably and you’ll get reasonable answers.
Think of those less fortunate but be fortunate you can think.

Written Oct 2007, inspired by several months in the middle east and on the sub continent, as an attempt to define my religious beliefs.

Humpty’s Dilemma

There are times in your life when you reach a junction,
Something that was failsafe ceases to function.
Time to reassess what you thought you never would,
Can you finally see the faults in what has always been good?

It felt so natural that you began to relax,
Glazing over what were fairly obvious cracks,
In a foundation laid in faith and good intention,
Nice from a distance but under close inspection,

Not enough to withstand the extent of the blows,
dealt time and again by both friends and foes.
But the question that needs to be asked at the end of it all,
Can all the cracks be patched or do we need a new wall?

Written Jan 2008, the beggining of the end of a great relationship.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Ignorance = Bliss?

Apathetically, they wander through life accepting things as they are.
Emotionless, they fail to feel the extremes that define us.
Ignorant, they know not that they march to the beat of someone else’s drum.
Unfortunate, they will always be no more, or less, than satisfied.

Written Nov 2007, regarding the apathy is cool mentality of my generation.

Friday, November 21, 2008

Land of the free?

There is a lot of talk of freedom, and all it represents,
a blessing to the masses, and what the repressed laments.
The term at first seems noble, but is seldom understood,
For its connotations cannot be limited to only being good.

Freedom to do what, to whom, and at what cost?
Each time you exercise your own, is someone else’s lost?
If you were granted total control, to do just as you wish,
Would others benefit or are the gains purely selfish?

If the downside of your choices cannot be easily seen,
Are you standing in a spotlight where someone else should’ve been?
Freedom is not as simple as it’s often made out to be,
The chance to govern your own life comes with responsibility.

This is not to say that you shouldn’t do just as you please,
But consider the repercussions to both your friends and enemies.

Written Dec 2007. Inspired by a work giving tree in which I chose to purchase the word "freedom" for charity, and the subsequent questioning of my decison.