Monday, August 8, 2011

a fresh new piece (of something)... by Ghostboy

this is an Intro to a song....

this is an intro to a song
one yet to be sung
like a school bell
that has not rung

not for the children
but for the children that never were
this is for the crib
for every kid who runs away
from their nanny
this is for our final day
everything that comes sideways
like carjacks, cancer
mud crabs & choking on fries
this is for kebabs
and hummus
and all the strange dips
on this ride home
this song is for the boat people
and by boat people I don’t mean
but all of us afloat

this is for the goats
and the sheep who lost their clothes
this is for the cows
and their dairy dreams
this is for the cream
and the crops
and the wheat
and the wheat bix
and the bits of us
that don’t rise to the top            kids

this is for the toast
to the men who boast
that their more than white bread
this is to the head
the one between
the cloud and the sea
and the toes
may one toe never big bigger than another
this is for our brothers
and out mothers sisters cousins
and their cats
this is for the rats
who didn’t jump ship
and the fleas           
and all the circus tricks
we try and pull off every day
this is to the night
and the night before
and the night before that
and any woman named                                     dawn

this is song that’s yet to be sung
like a man who is yet to be hung
and if Jesus returned right now
We would call him                                      Jes
which would just leave                             us
and he would catch the bus
and he would smoke                                   more
and he would swear                                    less
this is to public transport
and the other bad jokes
and the things that don’t arrive on time
like periods
and  parking fines
and losing track to find the map
this is to the ones                         and the twos
whose ticket was already punched
the ones not out too lunch
this is too brunch
half egg half bread roll
man, this is to the soul
and the shoes
and the socks
who hold us up
when the leg is longer
than the road

this is a song for the peeps
who creep in the dark
this is to the park
where the grass is never mowed
this is too the leaves
and everything that blows
like school and the crazy fools
who ski without their clothes
this is too yoghurt
and dessert
the shower that ran out
before we had a shirt
this is                                     Just in
small boys
with big egos
colder than a fever
this too the girl who knew to much
and the car that turned to rust
this is for the zen
those who kept the hens
but never ate the eggs
this is to the teachers
who taught us their teachings
that lessons can’t be learnt
that hearts (not fists) are meant for beating
and that words, words, words are best for speaking

this is to the silence

Catch Ghostboy at the Queensland Poetry Festival in Smitten Cobra's / Judith Wright Shopfront / Sunday 28 August  / with Betsy Turcot & Eleanor Jackson

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