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 am the chief of the elements It's a small world I no longer know where I have been What flowers I have smelt along the way I have known love more intense Never a laziness in regard I will sit on this hotel bed Looking out into the universal space Trying hard to hear the birds as they fly by It is rare that I am so alone And I check my phone for messages Check my technology for god Seeing if I still really care If waking up to a room full of people Beats waking up alone The machines all strum together Leaving nothing for me to do I will give up this season, this hemisphere I will give up this faded love And track back to when I was diseased And whispering an intense love When I knew so much in ignorance Now forgotten with education and stagnation I want to swim out to the breakers Swim out to my questions That all got washed to sea I sit here on the hotel bed, thinking of the indigenous What was stolen, returned, given and taken again I think of the p...

This is the poem titled Japan Full of rage towards the city I will never know your streets The heartbreak of your command Naked men bathing with bamboo in the wind Cymbal on the wall Characters of gold and earth I want to find your ancient name Your coloured demand There is laughter with this meal No angry silence full of dreams unfulfilled The trout swim well The rocks do not suffer water And here in this Jungle of earth I look for time unspent Train whistles moving further away A moan in the sleep never mistaken for bliss I wish to bathe your sweet skin Smelling of promise and history I wish to walk further I don't know anything anymore I am colourless, bruised A storm cloud moving over the garden My hair gets longer, the children sing The days get shorter, the old people argue I have nothing to say about these new times Can I be your gun? Can I sit in your holster? Can I answer ask you questions As I lay fruit at your temple Sit below your alter I ...

I can't get over any sort of past So all I do is walk in the garden I no longer write any more words My shelves are already too heavy The city's paint is still wet And the urine is salty I assaulted the stars until the sun came up And I found myself covered in sand Brilliant ocean Your floor is covered in weeds I want to walk in your garden I write no more words Look at all those trees So large and happy to be in this heatwave I will give everything away The heat in my groin The lines on my palm The salt on my lips The light in my eyes I am the drifting club of haiku borders The motherless country of Japan I will walk through the garden I, like Rome, was once so loud Now there are no more words Just Bell-Flowers and forests Churches that mean nothing And walls that decay The past is the new horoscope And I listen for the plants as they try to break free

I am smelling madness's soft bouquet as it pouts across the folds of my mindless brain, as it increases speed over the hills of the country in which I was born. The land of Bradshaw art and golden soup that is left for the dogs of music and art, those old barren bitches that lounge searching for metaphor and hidden doors within word and sentence and oil and pastel and poem and velvet jacket. I have so little time to see the old lady die, so little time to watch as the real zoo burns between pause and neglect. Where will these canoes take us? to the land of the falcon with the silver brooch pinned to its claw, tearing at the chain that is linked to the almond boat that glides a full half mile in front of the sober man that sinks down below his own education. Ah! there is no true arrogance amongst the young homosexual Indian boys, there is no true colour between the advertisements and the brick. Do you have that song bruising your imagination? Still after you have circled this road o...

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...