The Geranium Hotel Poems

Fish on the water Scales floating back and forth Grey clouds hanging high White clouds beneath A naked man asleep Drowsy with whiskey Strange sunlight on his calves His chest slowly rising, slowly falling The smell of wild herbs Smoke from the kitchen fire Sex on old blankets Lost on Lake Daff-Dilly Old myths talk of death The women think of birth Some wish they could leave The men pray on boats Trout stumble in their wake Drunk on the water's cold The flies were made by old hands The rod belonged to a dead uncle God I hope there is more whiskey The fire is still going I want you on old blankets Lost on Lake Daff-Dilly

Good Morning A fresh reflection of fog I wouldn't live in the forest forever Only while the Casuarinas sing I thought I knew the drunken friend I thought I knew my childhood self I thought I clung to memory I know I let it go And the voice that comes from the sun Is the same that wished for ice and water The explosions in my ear at night Come from birth, from death I can hear the distorted poetry The law of that which owns me I can claw at these walls I can smoke the energy away Nail the pictures to the wall Step to the rhythm The shy beat of the Romantic Wind Are you living a life you already regret Are you feeding from the tit of muddy water What do you learn from days like today What do you take from the night of the strange dance And you have to try a little harder To feel the cock between my legs And you see me get fatter, you see me fade You see me throw myself on the ground And listen for the penny to follow The line slowly walks past Heads b...

I will follow you Where sorrow cannot fly Wishing the 1000 wishes Of the 33 year old man I believe it is possible I believe it will change With the explosions of fate Somewhere in December And Magic lives starving Amongst the forgotten birds Deep in the east, perhaps in the Himalayas I fix my skeleton With the kisses of locusts and wool I fix the weather With the armies of dead kings I will follow the froth of seas Heavily into the blue Until my feet are bleeding And the fish have red gills But enough of these spells Brought to you by St Valentine I could not believe it was your fault Until I saw the years leave my youth Until I saw the salt thrown For the luck of the town The luck of the church So we hope that the hair falls out With responsibility With the chill of winter Its not the shyness of politeness It's comfort and it's freedom But the radio is on and I want to be naked Drunk and naked Under a fugitive blanket Beneath a calm storm W...

Casual glee So far out of sight In all those different colours But my bone has marrow Invisible Like halos and breath Here on Triumph Avenue Tongue against tongue Lip against lip Could I feel right In this rain Against white walls of school With hymns and crickets I watch the sky fall If only everything was as magic I listen to birds sing As my beard grows With the Sage goes to seed And all beings begin to shake However vibrations still Loss is given to the writers History becomes the new season Illumination is covered Could I be alone tonight? With eyes shut Here three feet off the ground On Triumph Avenue Needing something Carving my initials into the walls of a tomb Lizards doze While flood waters rage I need more words More symbols of song I can only hear myself I've found I need noone Here beneath the arches of ivory On Triumph Avenue I am probably wrong

Slow distraction I need you Help me blow my mind Will I know when to stop this rocket? Stop singing this song? Will there be a lesson Taught to me from the gods? Will there be a myth? A great ode for me Written by the ancients On drum and stone! And I know the days are getting longer I know they are numbered I know I am wasting the only the thing I have But I can't explain And I will walk further Along the page I will go further than I have ever been before And think of all the regrets that I have Think of all the pride I should have Think of the shadow where it meets the ground And I guess I will fall Fall at the speed of thought Fall at the speed of snow Fall at the speed of the guitar strum Fall at the speed of Kerouac's Disease At The Speed OF KEROUAC'S DISEASE I never wanted this I was raised to have manners But I wont thank you for giving me this The sea smells rotten The buddhists are lazy The meat should be given to the oracle ...

The smoothness of an image Caught beneath so many Here, as the rain falls Beware these recollections Great sighs are proclaimed Loud and through the trees Where final leaves are falling Purple, serrated, full of sorrow And muscles are pulled Limbs they are arched Creases become catchments The skeleton becomes a wall Great Lakes are filled From the rain on the ground Great reflections are felt As they ripple away Water is everywhere Water it canters Like horses, wild and fast Useless we stand As the world throws us around We pretend we can rise Yet we simply spin from east to west We gain no foothold In the soil full of rotting leaves In the ground of this island So we look out beyond our ledge From the border to the sea And we think of an island Full of expression and song Full of each other

You can smell the lime trees Hidden amongst the jungle vines Where the river's water flowers Where the birds are fortunate And they fly Back and forth You can kick the dust Or sit in the sand Like an Egyptian Sphinx Riddling this, Riddling that Escaping the daily cares Back and forth You can see the sea Through the citrus grove Past that brick wall And the colours are open to the dreams You visit Back and forth The smells are strong As you sit there The colours are bright And free, never lost Such a triumph of life Back and forth Those trees, so bored and lonely Jealous of those birds coming and going Watching as the flowers bloom As the vine's tendril curls with every rain Yet the tree is the land mark As we come and go Back and Forth Back and Forth

All the little boys Staring at the big old blue sky Distracted by the emptiness Distracted by the coldness of that colour That big old God up there That mighty one, that angry and forgiving one Looking at those boys Smiling as they grow in their malice, their lust, envy and greed Rubbing his hands, rubbing his thighs, rubbing his cock Every time he says those bright young things Browsing through pornography, ikea brochures, insurances pamphlets Every time they forget to call their mother And now in their age they see no sky They see no emptiness or cold, cold blue They have become the flatness, the coolness And they look for no great forgiving entity They feel no omnipresent god No molesting lover there to judge them To hand out halos, wings or devils horns No dirty old man to touch them on the thigh To assure them that all is well, good and forgiveness is secure Yet every time he says those monkeys Jerking off in their expensive cars In the clover by the all gir...

Books will never be written On your features, on your disguises Yet I feel I have read whole volumes Dusty, leather bound, illustrated and indexed Telling of your life and mysterious smile If I was an artist I would cast you in bronze And place you atop a fountain of champagne I graffitied your name in the canyon of hope On your birthday I threw lilies into the pond of the poet I hid a horsewhip in a bouquet of geraniums I buried my pen in the orange grove of Alexandria All because of you And the feelings I get throughout my flyblown frame My bird so quiet, so self centred and far Your cage is the land, your sadness the sky I know of your brilliance, I saw it in the park I know of your aloofness, I fear it every day I hid verses of ancient poems throughout your town Sappho, Li po, Catullus, Ovid and Horrace This was my correspondence Yet you preferred the poets themselves Great stern busts hidden in mossy gardens covered in ivy For you to run your smooth...

An education, it seems, is needed For me to learn that I am not a sunflower Greek Jew An education, it seems, is needed For me to know that I am not an infinite German of happiness An education is needed For me to know what the beauty of rent and geraniums are For me to be able to tell you what music is What art to like and what birds to watch flying across the morning sky An education is needed for me to know When to stop loving you To keep my discipline in shape To keep my suits sharp, and clean and neat An education, it would seem, is needed To tell the difference between Cohen, and Burroughs, and John Wayne's ghost To know when to plant orchards or cement To know when the stores are closed And when and why their windows will be smashed An education will be needed For me to know when to wait by the cemetery In the sun, in a woollen cap, grey eyes looking at the grass An education, it seems, is needed For me to discuss the voodoo media with my father For me...

I will keep this poem simple For all you poetic fools I was somewhere in Africa In a hotel without ghosts Death looked down From his balcony He was cool, blue eyes, and bald I stood beside a pool without water Looking at him on the seventh floor I had a hundred american dollars And a book of american poems He knew what I was looking for I did not understand what he saw Maybe he had a woman naked on his bed Sipping her tea or sucking pomegranate seed Behind me I knew was a continent Full of assumption and age About to be consumed by my own desire To see where history started (Yet I find myself becoming abstract) I turned my vision from death And turned it to the sky The weavers were silent The Stalks sat sighing on the roof An iron bar that held up a burnt light Was their perch They did not have a master Yet they knew that I was there They knew the blood that was in me Was tasty and full of spice They knew my heart was traditional And my ribcage made of go...

The light fades But then someone else's light will be peaking And a train crash was right on time Leaving was different this time The tallest building in town has difficulty capturing attention There are no birds to roost on the sills Concrete stones rest down by the elevator Aboriginals walk past with smiles and suits What is the matter at hand, what are we stopping at? The date is someone famous's birthday We light a fire and listen to the rain over the bridge I know there is no money for travel this year Travel up and through the distortion, with the little birds It's been twenty years since Rwanda, one since the end I decided to kick at the announcement Decided to sit upon the large square ashtray The last monument of the city's centre Back to Back, looking up, looking across Cigarettes, on our favourite solitary horizon The court house, alone, walking to the botanic garden Fences to burn, to jump, to build Drive while sleeping, hear music, i...

Things are changing, not just the light The static is growing louder and Russia is growing closer Here, down south, I sit and admire the sun that stains skin I wonder about the size of spears and I wonder when I will travel Where are the ships that will take me? Should I follow the path to the harbour to wait Or will someone come knocking when the time comes? My door it is covered by fast growing ivy My shoes are still brand new I know the birds that come to my garden And I spy on the neighbours as they do the same Things are changing, yes The horse paddocks are close, yet I no longer go there I wonder what sort of men go there now What sort of men would take me if I was eighteen once more What would we do... you can see so many stars at the horse paddocks Before these days arrived I would have analysed my thoughts I would have taken my favourite dreams and bred them with my fantasies I would rubbed in some oil paint, some spit and some family history And written ...

The hopeless energy beating blind Assassinating the jagged jawed animals Fashion shop guns and movie house girls Cannibal mothers and cubical fathers Who in the world can see the metaphor? And who in the world is the metaphor? The symbol in the circle A portrait painted in the dark The shoes are dry, the puddle's frozen Against the wall the stones collect The leeches take the blood the liquor thins In the electric light your colour is shown Leave day to the flowers and the silverware We know we are wrong We know we won't be forgiven At this time of night no one listens, everyone has gone Everyone grows old in our shadow Leaving us alone and distracted Something though sits on our shoulders Urging us to look for the church windows In which we are portrayed For the graveyards that we read about In the books of the baritone brothers Who showed us the parks And the places to go to find the empty clothes Above us I could see the sky being redesigned Belo...

Pulling at the rope at your feet The whole mountain will stay out of reach But the connection will be uncovered And the space between will grow shorter A song composed for years combined Will not impress the ears much younger And the secret servants will clap the flame higher You have to pull that rope Do you believe in the mice that chewed the strings? Do you believe in those judgements of bravery? There are too many holes and not enough blankets So there will be shaking tonight A dark unimpressed cloud over the school of thought Poison works fast but influence is faster Grown men look down with the curiosity of birds We had our chance to die, we could have seen the mountain fall Eternity may have burnt out its wick Yet we still force ourselves to walk alone Animation still burning our blood like ice falling against our necks We wake up growling like animals, scratching at one another's flesh The only lust we still maintain is to walk and run from rock to ro...

A sailor hat and a trenchcoat farewell One side of the apartment dedicated to the shifting mood A star, a mirror a pause to stare If you owned the whole of Chelsea what would you change Ha! misplaced your birthday? Or just your mother? A camera in your pocket with the crumbs of a cigarette Sweet youth with sweet lips where kisses explode If you were the king of New York would you have a queen? If you were the prince of Coney Island would you have your own Ferry Or just sit on the shore and think of Demuth? And what of rock and roll? what of love? what would you hold on to? Crowns grow cold when not worn Film cut in half and hair shorn short Did you believe that when you walked into a room eyes moved? Did they? Were you their sweet young thing? How well read would you be if you didn't have that presence? Your baby, your plunging sweetness The girl who had the sweet tooth who nursed you While you had your teeth removed What did you have hidden in your room? A s...

Jesus, you left a lot of men to swim or sin Your thick hair cut by the shepherd's shears And when you left your secretary was at a loss She had so much mail to answer, so many invitations To galleries, openings, functions and house parties So he went himself, John, he went himself With his baby, his lover, in his tight blue jeans The first party was next to a basketball court The hostess was called Ruth and she had a strawberry curl She whispered to John, She held him close And she told him 'There by the Elder tree was were Whitman kissed my boy' She handed him a soda but he wanted something stronger So he fainted in fake panic The go-go girl handed him her drink to get him on his feet No harm in seeing double until the morning awakening The girl asked John what he did He said he was recently put out of work Due to the sabotaging finger of God's command She smiled and winked but he had to go He left his baby there with the tight ...

Honour the great fallen wall that edged, in golden splendour, our coupling and three standing horses from Arabia. Honour these horses that stood breathing warm scented spring air beneath gumtree as I kneeled over fallen stump and you leant over teenage torso Honour the rising trees that blossomed in early November the month of the death, the month of the citrine and the month of Guy Fawkes.  Honour we who turned the colour of the night from blue to black to golden-yellow and the stars above that swished back and forth as the wind stirred their constellations Honour the grasses, tall and green, stalking and reaching as though in Africa, hiding prey and predator, hiding our naked reason from the cars and their headlights that sped along the still warm road Honour the crickets that sung their own Mozart, their own Tosca and Suites of Phillip Glass, honour them for providing the chorus of our love making- the symphony of our own Red Rocks. Honour the first time that I fe...

inhale                               breathe            ask the night for what the day can bring an ear brushes a thigh high rises enclose a million castles rising                crumbling kissing your feet your face will twitch and to keep you alive I will kiss you all over breathe... The heart is a muscle inclosed in a cage A pull at the zip and fondle the gland In the ocean the foam grinds the sand grand          high                  painted red from pink slumber to heavy crimson roar In the light                  synthesised inhaled the taste of true masculinity sweet flavours mixed with sweet Ask the night why the sounds are so primitive so...        guttural we pace we wal...

When my heart is weighed against a feather I know the memory of all I’ve written will lighten it And the memory of the boy who leaves the bakery smelling the loaf through the paper bag The memory of Noah, who begged me to write poetry on the walls of his ark He paid me too much for my words There was no money left for the boat’s headlights Yet the sailors had cigarettes and dreams of soft skin Am memory of Saul ripping at Samuel’s cloak and Samuel becoming naked ‘The kingdom, you have lost’ he said ‘but me you shall have’. Memories of sore soldiers and blessed swords The memories of the last of the marble statues- the plaster of Paris’s design is now in vogue And the time I asked the the sun ‘How do I become a hero?’ ‘Who must I offend/defend/make love to? What offerings on what isle must I make’ The grandfather of me, he was the last of the Lotus eaters He knew the secret of man and dream The earth she ate him Death has no time for the past wr...