The Decepti-con: More than meets the eye

Sometimes I'm surprised by what lies inside
The part of people that they choose to hide
At first, just lovely, a pleasure to meet
Underneath deception, lies and deceit

What drives a person to acts of such callous?
Were they hurt themselves, what's the source of this malice?
Do they secretly rage after some injustice past?
It must have been truly awful for its mark to last

Although shocked when you first see it in force
Thinking back you realise there were signs, of course
Promises broken, smoothed over with lies
Little untruths uttered in front of your eyes

Seemingly harmless, you fail to seize
These are just symptoms of a greater disease
A beast, fed by evil, lying under the surface
Dormant until awoken, fuelled with a purpose

Unmasked and exposed in the harsh light of day
Hell bent on nothing but getting its way
Unashamed by its ugliness or the fork of it tongue
Its wrath rages fiercely until the damage is done

Standing alone, in a wake of destruction
The beast retreats waiting for further instruction
Parasitic in nature, it feeds off the hate
Binding with its host, they share a similar fate

Each time it emerges the monster gets stronger
The damage a little worse, the duration a little longer
And before you know it the person is gone
It was the beast, not the host that was there all along.

Written in Oct 2009, during a dispute with an ex-housemate, who proved herself duplicitous beyond any of our imaginations.

Living the Dream

Insatiable for adventure with a thirst that can’t be quenched
He's wallowed in the pool of life and come away drenched
Never able to sit still, or even slow down
Hungry for a new life, in a foreign town

Determined not to be, just like all the rest
Trying all the paths to see which one suits him best
Laughing to himself at those who choose to settle
Why be on the road if your pedals not to the metal?

He only gets one shot at this, so he'll make sure he does it right
Live and love and play and dream, make peace and start a fight.
He has his whole life, to live the aussie dream
but not before he's had the chance to blow off a little steam

How can he give himself to someone else for life
If he's barely old enough to know himself, let alone a wife?
He'll be drawn to those with vision, who protect the lower class
And shun those more focussed on their own wealthy ass.

This will change in time, inevitable as kids and tax,
But he'll enjoy it while he can, take some time to relax
The secret to a life, lived without regret
Is to follow his dreams, and not the safe bet.

Written July 09, while my friends are looking at apartments and marriages and I am giving in to the travel bug again.

War and Peace

War

There have been certain similarites in girlfriends of old,
a smallness of stature has been common I'm told.
Clever, opinionated and strong-willed women,
with a personality larger than the height they've been given.

However when two strong people find common passion,
it seems they clash in the most extraordinary fashion.
Battles rage fiercly, without subject essential,
two losers and the outcome inconsequential.

Arguments purely for arguments sake,
stubborness and principal defining your stake.
Pushing the boundaries, in a way, immature,
mind games dreamt up, by the insecure.

But when the armistace is declared, the end of the war,
and you're two exhausted casualties, exposed and raw,
that very same passion that fuelled the madness,
lights up the room, replaces the sadness.

You quickly forget the collateral damage,
that's behind you now, you survived it, you'll manage.
Closer, all thanks to those "minor" spars,
two souls entiwned by their battle scars.

But when the foundation of peace is a delicate truce,
it only takes boredom or a similar excuse,
for the beast lying dormant, so close to the surface
to rear its ugly head, always with the same purpose.

To re-enact the same play, no matter the stage,
tell the same story, page for page,
sing the same song, with different word,
let the bee loose, against the bird...

Peace

There’s a little girl I know, who’s a little fond of me
She’s cute, kind, and considerate, and as clever as can be.
She knows everything about me, all the good and the bad
and listens tirelessly to every thought I’ve ever had.
I can’t fathom a reason, as to why we’d ever fight
It never seems to matter, who is wrong or right.
It should be ideal, she even puts up with my snoring
So why am I so terrified of simply being boring???

Written July 09, an exploration of my tendancy of old to fight with the people I love, and coming to terms with the equally beautiful and scary alternative.

The Understudy

It takes mere minutes for the eyes to tire
Each page dwindling enthusiasm's fire
Woke up this morning committed to the plan
Until distraction set in and procrastination began

Have counted the pages, time and again,
Yet not getting any closer, to the chapter's end
Read it all before, but the mind's a clean slate
It’s a foregone conclusion, left my run too late

Read the same sentence, till my visions blurs out
And still couldn't say what the chapter's about
Awake with a start, unaware I had slept
Hours have passed, my approach is inept

Fear kicks in, and brings adrenalin along
The mist parts an inch, suddenly focus is strong
A sliver of light penetrates the dark in my head
It’s all flooding back, words previously read.

Grasping this new development as if life relies
On absorbing every word in front of my eyes
Its mere hours until I'll be put to the test,
The goal is just to get through, know it won't be my best.

It’s amazing how many times I've been here before
Know starting earlier would have trebled my score
But it’s only under pressure that the fire can ignite
Each performance a result of the previous night

Sure I could have done better than rest on my laurels
Not relinquished to temptation, of both mind and morals
But it’s too late now for a false resolution
Time to pray for a question with a familiar solution....

Written May 09, in an attempt to find any distraction while I was supposed to be studyin (obviously) for my CFA.

Ridin'

He climbs aboard and puts his key in the ignition,
at first a gentle gasp but then she's purring like a kitten
He clutches her tight as they shift up through the gears
the changes smooth, both relaxed, a comfort borne of years

Even though he is loaded heavy with protection
it fails to hamper the pleasure of their connection
He shifts his weight at each bend to suit the terrain
she shifts hers, to find pleasure and avoid the pain

He gazes into her dials to judge their power and their speed
in this dance, of romance, it is clear who has the lead.
Although he is the rider it is she who has control
she moans to let him know, he reacts, and on they roll.

They maneuvre through the traffic, as one,
addicted to the danger and the fun.
The world is just a blur, racing past
how long, on the edge, can they last?

The final hill and he shifts up, towards the peak,
she holds on, for a while, and then goes weak,
slowly they come back down the other side
both exhausted from the thrill of the ride

It is a union borne of mutual appreciation
the journey as important as the destination.
Each alone would be simply standing idle
together, a hidden passion, they unbridle

Written April 2009, about the thrill of riding a motorcycle... or is it?

A Fool’s Hope

An optimist, a charmer, trapped in a world of undeniable lunacy
I skip, and then crawl, through a land where everything is obvious but nothing makes sense
I question the ways of the world
But the deeper I delve the more lost I become
My mind often escapes me; it tries momentarily to follow the voice of reason
But when it returns I can only battle to remember the lessons learnt
I love, I hurt and I enjoy with unrivalled passion
My smile is my best friend, and my only saviour in those moments of terrible uncertainty
I am articulate yet dumb, unable to express the feelings that haunt me day and night
And it is always ALWAYS to my detriment
I frustrate everyone around me, and it is the ones closest to me that I hurt most
Beware the curse of my love, I will always injure through my ignorance
To be able to express myself would be to find infinite fulfilment
But the trail of broken hearts suggests that this is a futile quest
Run when you hear the big friendly giant’s footsteps in the hall
A revelation has been made; the prince of darkness is a mute.

Alas cry for me not, this alien needs no sympathy
My happiness is by no means a façade; it is my way of life
A great burden has been lifted from the shoulders of one equally great in stature
And the sweetness of revelation and relief cloud my senses
I shall live, shall love, and shall endure
I will always regret the blades of my flaws, and the damage they have dealt
I am grateful that I was able to feel the power of uncomplicated ecstasy
If only for a short period of time
I would have loved to have wallowed longer in that pool of pleasure
But I can only blame myself for my demise
I am ashamed of myself, and that I have corrupted the greatest feeling I ever dared to call my own
I will always miss the warmth of her feelings and the beauty of her smile
My good fortunes to the man who can compensate where I fall short
Words fail to describe the bliss your future holds
Return her love as I could not, and give her the happiness she deserves
Think of me in passing, as the disastrous precedent, have a laugh at my expense.

The trials and tribulations of a hopeless romantic
A man more lost for words then any that’ve come before him
He who is foolish enough to part with the greatest gift of all
And he who will, to all but his own conscious, seem ignorant of such a loss
The happiest man that ever there was and the only man in history to take pride in his coxcomb!

Written May 2002, a desperate attempt to stop my first gf from breaking up with me due to my horrible inability to express my feelings. It worked, and we dated for a couple years. Have always thought of this as the first poem I wrote for pleasure, and the turning point in the relationship. A large part of my the reason I write today.

In Loving Memory

As inevitable as birth is the arrival of death
But how different is the first, from the final, breath
Pain and tears and the miracle is born
Tears and pain and from us you are torn

Ninety years are gone in the blink of an eye
But would you have us laugh or prefer us to cry?
Is this the moment to mourn never seeing you again
Or the time to celebrate your life with us, Den?

I really barely knew you and now never will
And yet such a big part of my life you’ll always fill
Your shadow is cast longer then your tiny frame would permit
We’ll miss your penchant for the arts and your razor-sharp wit.

There is an empty seat at the table at bridge
And a full bottle of gin still waiting in the fridge
Five daughters who gathered to see you cut the cake
Find themselves instead planning a wake

You thanked the nurses with you final breath
Told them they were beautiful and accepted your death
But you were the beauty in your scarves of every colour
A unconventional wife, friend, gran, and mother.

We’ll miss you Den and yet be happy for you too
Appreciate that you’re up there having a few
Thanks for the laughs and the stories you tell
Goodbye, so long, auf wiedersehen, farewell!

Written March 2009, on the day my grandma Denise passed suddenly, and yet after years of expectation. An incredible woman who will be missed by all who knew her.

TGIF

Finally you've come again, it seems an age since we parted
Recalling just the thought of you, gets my heartbeat started
I hope you hang around this time, for an extra hour or two
Do you look forward to seeing me, as much as I do you?
Alas, I know you'll slip away, just like each week before
You'll soon be someone's Saturday, and my Friday no more..

Written Feb 2008, a quick thought during one Friday afternoon beer o'clock at work, an expression of my love for my favourite day. What ever happened to acrostic poems?

Credit - Where it is due?

some saw the warning signs, some had a hunch
but nobody was prepared, for the credit crunch
ignorance met greed, and colided with fate
once the cracks were apparent, it was already too late

house prices fell, while rates were on the rise
the US saw a bubble burst in front of their eyes
the NINJAs couldn't pay, so the CDOs tank
low-income housholds now belong to the bank

S&P gets Moody cause they take the blame
while inter-bank lending will never be the same
the investor is stung, so stocks take a dive
banks turn to the government, just to stay alive

so rates are cut, and then cut some more
many a banker is shown to the door
world currencies crumble, and with no end in sight
institutions of old disappear into the night.

Merrills is missing, and the Bear has been tamed
and don't turn to AIG when your Citi lies maimed
Leahmans went Fannie up, while Freddie got fingered
the mighty have fallen and the lucky have lingered

some see it as justice, a blow to the rich
but when the trains off the track, we're all in the ditch
an economy is built on investment and consumption
when you cut off the head, the body ceases to function

supply is just inventory, until it meets demand
and your confidence is down when your caps in your hand
liquidity is a mirage, the bonus pools dry
belts are tightened as we all try to get by

many forgot profit is just risk's return
played in the fire, and were surpised by the burn
the market is cyclical, a recession overdue
mums and dads bit off more than they knew how to chew

there are so many victims, and its not over yet
but it will turn around, and in time we'll forget
the lessons we learnt, the pain in which we wallow
cause when the money comes back...the greed will follow.

Written Feb 2o09, about a very real issue in my professional life, and increasingly in greater society in general.

personal training

his shadow is cast long by the early morning sun
already sweating though the day has just begun
step after step his tired feet pound the ground
a lone weekend warrior, with his boot camp all around

she wears her oldest clothes and yet she beams a smile
she's glad that she's back and has kept it up a while
aware the hardest part was just getting through that door
a single dancer, moves with her class across the floor

they shake off sleep and the morning chill
time slowly awakening and honing their skill
they pass to one another with a comfort borne of years
two teams of individuals, in a field full of peers

the air rushes from his lungs as he heaves at the weight
he repeats one more time though his need to rest is great
all around him there are others who sweat, moan and groan,
sharing an addiction, and yet each a junkie on his own.

their battle is a mental one, the results physical
but to call them vain or proud would just be cynical
though they fight in isolation, so too they alone achieve their goal
sound of body sound of mind and at peace with their soul.

Written Jan 2009, while running along the beach, started wondering about the individual nature of exercise, but how the individualism is mental and not necessarily physical.

Beauty, The Beast

I woke up this morning, confidence poor
couldn't bring myself to walk out the door
one look in the mirror confirms my fears
use all of my strength to hold back the tears

a discarded magazine lies crumpled and haunting
the impossible beauty of the model still taunting
perfect features and a chiseled physique
same age as me but at their physical peak

their skin doesn't blemish their tan doesn't fade
effortless glamour, heavenly-made

but the clothes never wear as well on my frame,
and I can never get my hair to fall quite the same
my body has curves where the muscles should be
and is that a zit I see winking back at me?

powerless, I guess I'll just grin and bare
apathetic on the surface, even if below I care
a deep breath and with my head held high
I step out into the world, wanting to die

"Mr Pitt, you look great, smile over here"
the camera captures my image, but not my fear
I stare at the crowd, jealously
if only they would trade places with me....

Written Jan 2009 for a gorgeous friend of mine who fails to see what everyone else can.

The One Year Miracle

The people clap,
The people cheer,
Oh my God,
It’s been a year!

I’ve had my doubts,
You have too,
I had my doubts
After a day or two.

Twelve months on,
And here we are,
Who would have thought?
That we’d come so far.

People have doubted us,
That much is true,
No one thought we’d last,
Even a month or two.

But here we are today,
And all though insults have been hurled,
I wouldn’t swap you, or this,
For the world.

Written in 2003 to celebrate a year with the same girl as previous. Young, in love, and celebrating what seemed a minor miracle.

To You, From Me

The crimson maiden’s voice rings true,
Her epic crisis is anything but new:
“See my eyes, feel the fear,
Tell me what I need to hear,”
Her voice is soft but her eyes betray,
The need in her voice, her eternal dismay

Once again the duty falls on the knight,
To slay the beast, and to the princess’ delight,
Run the gauntlet adorned with none but a rose,
Defeat Caesar’s army; vanquish all his foes,
He must test every muscle, every sinew, every nerve,
He must be one man in the name of love.

Though battles and dragons pose him no threat,
Ask him bout his true feelings if you want to watch him sweat.
“But who really could?” the knight often wonders,
Express what the heart feels without those awkward blunders,
Convey the desire, the passion, the emotion,
Raging more fiercely than a tempest, than an all-encompassing ocean.

What words could possibly do any justice,
To the feelings that run so rampant between us?
What man would be foolish enough to even try?
Express the love he has for the one for whom he would die?
But alas, dear lord, this is a quest that he must make
To stifle any possible doubts, not for his, but for her, sake.

It surprises me daily that you remain unaware,
of the feelings I have for you, the love that we share.
Lost would I be without your “gentle” touch,
On the edge of a precipice, you’re the rope that I clutch,
Vertically we differ, there’s a sizeable gap, but
Everything always seems so right when you’re on my lap.
You are the one, my rain, wind and fire
You are the one, whom I’ll always desire
You are the one:
M ystically
I rritating,
N aturally my
E verything

Written in 2003 for my first serious girlfriend after continually being asked to "express how I was feeling". I have fought the overwhelming desire to change any of the lines, aiming to keep the poem as originally written.