Under The Mallee Bough

  The Final Solution. ( A Philosopher Lecturing on the Orrery.) The Final Solution. Of course we have to accept the solution, Chosen for us by that enlightened elitism, Of a vastly superior, educated coalition, That all things are equal in an interchangefull, World of social inclusion. Which means, in their shorthand version, To give credit to their postmodernist vision, Of a new world order of social engineering, That our cherished identities are now void of meaning, And interchangeable, as per deeming!   To callously overturn in one generation, So many Millennia of social evolution,    So now we have : Trans-gender, Trans-ethnicity, Trans-spirituality, being of the divine or the necessity, Trans-sexuality, Trans-religiosity, being of orthodox or self-actuality, Trans-ideology, Trans-poverty, being indebted to rapacious banking criminality. In short, take or make what you wish, From the new “progressive” absurdity, That has created in The ...

  The Third Alternative part two. Our house is situated on the side of a hill, almost at the summit. Behind us, pine dark peaks, with their springs and cold, narrow streams, march heavenwards. Below are enclosed fields, and the tarn which supports water fowl and flocks of ducks; beyond, the bare slope with its solitary almond tree where we bury the dead from Clach Thoul.  More dead than living come to us, and Hagraade, the sewer, dilingently stitches shrouds for them, and when they have been lain in their rough earthen holes, Dubricius sprinkles a little holy water on the turned up soil, so that those beneath do not lie on unsanctified ground.  And though no stone marks the place where each soul sleeps, I like to think they are peacefully there, on that quiet hillside, with the grass growing green in the winter, and the gentle wind blowing through the almond’s branches when the summer comes around again.  Aviv drove th...

                   The Scriveners Review.                                     For the Murray Mallee and Regions …. Vol. 1…#5.           (Fishing on the banks of the Murray River..1935.)                                                       Under the Mallee Bough,                 ...

  Shadow across the Sun. Shadow across the Sun. She laughed and declared as a confiding sage, “Oh, I’m sure we’ll all live to a ripe old age, And perhaps by then they will discover, A pill to take so you can live forever”, For nothing was impossible under that summer Sun, But we were then so infallible..and so young, And the song just listened on the transistor radio, Sang of loss and dying..Leonard Cohen, I’d allow.. But such sad pessimism just didn’t wash, On that bright, sunny day at the beach, With our towels, singing gulls and such pleasure in reach! But strangely, just as those words were spoke, A shadow sweeping across the Sun it awoke, A shiver in me as if to walk across my grave, Such a cold sensation under hot Sun to have, Surely just a bird or child’s kite across the sun did glide. But now, upon reflection with many years gone by, So many thence gathered under that summer sky, Have passed from this life or suffering to get by, With unpronouncea...

  The Ballad of an Innocent Man. ( Joseph Ducreux, Surprised Scared Face, 18th Century Man). The Ballad of an Innocent Man. ’Twas not me wot done it, I can tell you that first hand, For what stands ‘ere afore you, Is the form of an innocent man! Never have I deliberately lusted, Nor crossed a madam’s palm, The demon drink has rarely touched these lips, Of this innocent man. I rise each and every morning, Aft’ the sleep of a babe, I wash the night-dreams from my eyes, And confront a busy day, For I knows full well the devil’s work, That idle hands will play, But for my hands there’s work aplenty, As I fill my innocent day. I’ve never a cross nor abusive word, To sling at my fellow man, On the contrary, I declare I am a poet, When it comes to required verbal command. And as for dogs and other beasts, I only show a respectful hand. I honour my father and mother, And give reverence to my spouse and lover. I praise the works of The Lord,...

  A Gentle Touch. ( Fernand Toussaint.) A gentle touch. She slipped off her velvet glove, One delicate finger-tip at a time, Once this obstruction was thence removed, She lay her hand in mine. I tender-touched her whitened palm, Made note of the softness of her skin, A sign I pondered in my conscious mind, Of the lady’s gentleness within. It felt that this one small action of her hand, Gave cause in gentle touch, all that was in demand, All that was wanted and needed, Between the woman and the man. For the intimacy of love need not be ordained, By a passionate embrace between a woman and a man, Enough for love to be built on a tender touch, Of a lover’s offered hand.