Womandala

noteworthy, photography

Ten hours later…

I’m calling that done.

 

x

 

mandalaaa

 

 

 

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Stream

living, noteworthy, rhymes and rhythm

 

Give me a damn warning
This clawing
Dawning brawn
Sits massive, seated on the furry faux far down the couch
He is swatting swapping looks
Furtive glances steal the books
That lie unread
It can be said
That dreaded heads rock rolling beds
All over, this dry drover falls off four by four to dust
Where he blamed the camp
Convenient
That activists
have flocked.

I don’t like this, I think it’s a game
I think it’s the same
Flow now unpretending
Stop tending amending
Miles away unattending
Fine, fine,
Fine is pending.
Your brain decay
Your same delay
You’re sane today.
Hip hip hooray!
And seeming this small torture
Bending backwards for debaucher
See the thistles popping into frame to remind you you’re from Away.
Such a dreary place
And a chaos of mace
Tanning beds for white race
Stumble in and out trace
Slim figures stalking streetline
Where the skyline meets the pie-line
There, the queue that tiptoes right across the footpath near the pub
They want coffee
Stopping short of blocking court proceedings withered
Feathered burly
Hither thither to and fro
Pretend they’re early.

I liked the party
I wagged to be arty
I tagged myself in photos or it never happened at all.
There goes the white light honesty
The cost of honour, modesty
And honestly, can we really find the truth in any case?
Not today we can’t.
It’s a vote not an aunt
Not a singling out tone
Knot the rope not the phone
Draw the line on the dots
Or the fine from the cops
Stop the mine for the crops
Blotto mind from the hops
Godot blinded by shops.

Last night
I rode past singing
Blurting out to boys and zinging
Flinging my safe space to kingdomtown and voiceless prizes thatched
The rooves and hoofless hoppers
Striding down, the armoured coppers
Chuck their chin up high to melt away humanity onsite.
The kestrels swooping over
Think that they’ve got til October
Til the shooting guns are smoking
Cigarettes and butts are drowned
And the crowded site remaining
In this cesspool pit constraining
Concertina doored the floorway far beyond your wall or hall
Sat upon, some thrown before you
Or decry a moan for gore view
but thank god you’ve got your Netflix
And your armchair
It’s your drug.

Far beyond your wall the yellow
Crushing beasts tear up the earth
Fuck those people tonight
Fuck them all high and might
Strength is gone when one can no more eat;
The food is dried and wasted.
The tiniest drop of glitter
Bitter sitter on the edge of the shitter
Sees the drivel path, the vapid bath
That we all cluck and soak in
Today.
Vile creature, you before me
In your beauty, your adoring
nature feeble in its fickle realm
The poised and sitting still.
Heady eddy, water pacing
Fast and whips the mind is racing
Calm below the magic placement tasting richness is devoured
Flinging hours past incitement
of the violence of the Whitement
Concrete sets below the canopy of corporate spies and foes
Flies that whip around are treated
With much more respect than people
Who have lived this earth
And loved this earth
Til their bodies were taken and robbed.
Such slobs their captors howling
The befouling hours growling
With a beer in hand they’re slamming down the schooners four by four
And the blazing eyes are slowing
It’s anointment to be glowing
It’s an oi oi oi! to fertilise the mind and protect from pests
And the boy boy boys! in their virtual world
Whose wheezing cough envokes smoke whirls
Grimly hold on, senseless
Hurl abuse, chipped tooth to boost their grin.

Stave off the crises
Grave put off Pisces
Caved into heist sees
No other vent.

I wish you had the fortitude
To see past the ribbons, the cattle commute
And see there before you the wily confused
Whose fuse stews and simmers, who cannot refuse.

I don’t know how to wade
How to stave off, calve or save
But I’ve got friends who’ve won
Did a simple flatpack goodbye.
Packed up, bolts, and drive
Turning, screw and screw
I lied
It was never easy
We should’ve drawn instructions
Before the packdown.
She’s a fucking clown
And ace of brown
Erasing pounds
All Britishness blocked.
Hocking furniture gems
Thoughts thrown into blend
But the wind turns again
Thoughts stymie low on stove.
Back in baffletown
Why waste them
To be breathed in
Ghost cackletown
Playing mirthfully with wonder
As we dance, I see its smile.
Sticking in the throat
The beforetime
Sinking into bloat
The ass time
Kicking stay afloat
Catharsis baked in tray
The treats are warming.
Just as globe is a mess and is storming
Warming probed by this pest
Homo
Conformiens
The mileage has entered a phase
But you’re not fazed
To accumulate knowing.
Even though we’re past our glowing
While we dither
Creatures blink past existence
Neath your feet
But the quiet pain is splintered
Nothing more than mild winter
Hear the clever child talk about the trees and be amazed

Doubt about the flouting characters
Who flaunt their clout and barristers
With their made-up tricks they force their way
Into fertile farms and fields.
Faraway though
Who could care about
The acid rain, the students’ shout?
The blasted feigning politics
Whose faceless fire threatens.
The letters sent from over sees
right through the lying rover
Needing prying blockhead shoulder
On whose power is surely leant.
Unkempt, the wild gratitude
The misspelt word
The false prelude
The meaning stinks of vile whim
Grim sinking ships assail.
The tacit net, the carrion
The corvid’s cry, the carry on
Of weeping mothers
Filtered through the journalists and him
Murdoch press he wrote
Sanctioned murder on boats
How fucking dare gloat
Over raw rocky lives
Newly ruined here in situ
Stewing
Melting pot
Rolls hit you
Gold to shimmer in crevasse that widens
Neath your petty bleats.
I care for crickets
Not ashes to ashes
Load up babe with your cashes
Caches hunted by spies
Working hard overtime
Glowing orange with crime
Ill-defined time of thine.

Sink a shot
To take away
Rot
Brink, wave takes
Lot
Notes broken
tokes stoked
to stop

 

x

 

moonmoon

 

 

Here Flying

living, loving, noteworthy, photography, rhymes and rhythm, travel

 

 

Tis a photo of joy that reminds one to see

Past the murmurs to nudge toward something alive

Being that which connects and collides in a frame

Saturating a feeling of brightness inside

There atoning in wonder; illusioning fear

But you prospect for metals that steel your third eye

Fall upon this small magnet, deem one to be three

For the fourth is enforcing the fort caught engrossed

In my moment of sharing a careful word worn

Wearing waste jarring charred tarry stars from their place

Is a wayside where whey splits from curd and the corn

Found its oily way into good cooking and space

Here you wonder aloud where the crack has been formed

One can plunder light, draining some quiet repose

Lying low, waiting words sweeten rupturing line

To demand mindless maker defeat its caked praise

Ode defining the miners who seek what they find

Bolsters boyishness dearly adhering to rows

Taking weather near hither or thither to be

Coming back to the colour that brightened your sighs

In a thronging sensation; a resounding vibration

Persisting through filters that aid percolation

And a clear conversation, intent on elation

Bringing lingering things to the boiling point nation

Rolling out of the grey where you stay in all day

Reeling back from the black that attacked your old fray

Polling hacks that enraptured the brackish to clay

One can see now how clouds can delight in array

 

 

And like a bird, held mighty word

And like a bird, held mighty word

 

 

peace xxx

 

 

 

 

 

Eat It

noteworthy, photography, rhymes and rhythm

Know the back of your fridge like the back of your mind

Keep in touch with the contents of cupboard

For it seems many people are widely resigned

To food wastage lately discovered

It’s not just a pack of fresh bread gone to waste

Though a small simple thing it may seem

Like poison in water may not have a taste

It still finds its way down the stream

There’s a bigger incredulous picture at stake

And if lucky you might sense your role

In the power you wield by being awake

And aware of waste’s energy toll

Now the sugar has travelled from China to Seoul

Then was packaged in Delhi to boot

And the butter flew in from New Zealand and earnt

Several thousand more air miles en route

And the flour was trucked across desert plains

To land in your crumpets and pie

Where you promptly forgot that Small Purchase you got

And it sat in the kitchen to die

And with each little waste that no one did taste

a part of me shrivels inside

this distortion of food versus need does allude

to a glutton of comfort prescribed

It seems so distorted to hear news reported

Of famine and people deprived

When finding that tupperware fare has been thwarted

And growth of black mold has arrived

It is not that I judge, I don’t aim to offend

Though it’s hard to let go every time

All habits can change with the will to amend

And avoid what I see as a crime

Oh harsh! You might say; Helen with your assumption

But how does change come lest with action?

Consumption without simple care finds resumption

And all blame is placed on distraction

I call out to those who have all that they need

To remember first food you possess

And if finding a great deal of wastage may need

To address the neglect of excess

peace

xx

Dumpster delicacies

Dumpster delicacies

Always make sure…

noteworthy, photography, travel

 

…you carry an axe camping.

Sure, the notion of being alone among several hundred kilometres of bushland has its hazards. For those not ripened in the camping arena, I shall inform thee of my new-found knowledge.

One is to worry much less about encountering potential lurking psychopaths than fallen trees. The latter proves to be almost unconquerable if said axe is not present for the road-block.

Even with an axe, your work will be cut out for you, so make sure someone else is there to do most of the hard work. After all; you’re on holiday.

 

That wattle…

 

But in the interest of honesty, make sure you do the hikes you went there for. It might be the most dreamy, golden, warm wattle-clad clearing you’ve ever parked a tent on, but the views from the top are guaranteed to make you glow… in and out, if you live in Australia.

 

Pigeontop Mountain

 

Then there’s the oft overlooked element: your company. For this trip, different people popped up like popcorn to make a bowl of delicious and hilariously satisfying adventures, now savoured by all kernels. You don’t need to know each other, just make sure you’re all of the same flavour, and remember; friends not on tether pop together.

 

peace

 

 

 

 

Let’s Hear a Story

living, loving, noteworthy, photography, travel

 

 

 

As promised, I went to the arid and dry.

Only, something had changed in the landscape of late.

Great plains, always salty, cracked and creeping on for miles sat below a liquid surface.

Here upon the plains a quiet; something stirred in ghostly waters.

Badger Bates, respected elder, told of slaughter on the flood plains; how the killing of native people echoed on and on for years.

It was then we heard the students who’d been present here before us often came to tears; unsettled in this place of darkened desert.

It was not until the elder smoked the students through a fire, and he spoke to spirits settled in this place of violent past. And what followed was a calm; a lifting light, a subtle sigh. The feeling of the landscape changed, no more they felt the morbid weight and felt no need to break the camp.

For my part, there I stood and felt with heart the toiling on the soil. My science told me “silly!” but my instinct knew much more. Who am I to judge from outside that the spirits were not haunting? There indeed existed much more than my sweeping visit told.

 

peace x

 

 

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