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An update in lieu of poetry
Category: Life
Apparently theatre is the most temporal of all art forms existing but once in a particular time and space and then never again. Lies. Fucking. Lies.
Blogging/Blog poetry is the most temporal of all art forms existing NOT AT ALL if Myspace decides to act like Tom's enema and fall out from under us, not actually putting anything up.
I had written some really good/nice/I liked it incidental poetry here, took me an hour, went to post it and SUPRISE SUPRISE myspace just decides to delete it.
I know we've all had this problem before. Maarja informs me it can also be Internet Explorer's problem because apparent IE doesn't store infortmation wheras other browser's do.
Anyway, fuck technology, fuck myspace, fuck the internet and fuck the 21st century.
I promise I will write some poetry this week. Also I will get around to everyone's blogs. My PC has fallen over and die (refer to above point of FUCK TECHNOLOGY) so the only time I can really check myspace is at work. I'm using my laptop AKA "The Craptop" at home, which among other things ensures a very laggy time for all.
Anyway, I am the Zen master, I no longer feel anger as I am an enlightened being, having assumed the position and moved on to higher realms of existance.
Getting some genuinely good advice recently has uplifted my spirit.
If I may, I would like to shamelessly promote myself to all lifeforms who are interested.
Coming soon from the pen of Mr. Brent Downes
"Hush!" - A song of Spring
"Coat of Arms" ( A book of new poems)
"Evening Plans" A CD of collected spoken word.
In other news my honours thesis is almost complete. I submit my draft soon. I have decided once it is finished that will conclude my research into Queensland theatre...it's been fun..but its not my bag..I will have to think long and hard what I want to do further research in.
Next year will see a number of bold and completely uncalled for moves from me. The first is I am going to WRITE and FINISH a collection of short stories which I have decided will be entitled "Up Late", I am actually going to commit to my first novel as well, I have a few ideas but am unsure of which direction I am going to go in.
Going to enter a few competitions (NOT SLAMS) and also begin a new collection of poetry entitled "Night Lyrics" (which may be bi-lingual....dunno yet...)
It will be Spring soon. Riverfire on Saturday. For those of you you don't remember last year or didn't read the Days of Roses & Nights of Moonsilver then I have included, in parting, the conclusion to my "Spring it on ya!" series from last year.
That and my heartfelt thanks for enduring me so consistently.
Your friend,
Mr.Brent Downes
"Spring it on ya!"
Part Seven: F-111 Fly by.
Conclusions.
My assumptions are being abducted
by readon and pretty ladies
lovelyladybabyfianceonedaymaybes.
I thought winter gone and dead and
presumed to walk in the gravyards of gods and kings.
With my larkhead held high
and singing.
Throwing my lorikeet-rhymes in the direction of summer.
And I have passed another
season.
And there is nothing reaon can say.
Which will asway
the fear causing gallops in my chest.
Or predict.
What I will do next.
Shall I welcome spring?
First of September 2007.
Soar in the roar of F-111.
Will I burn the river?
And bid farewell to winter?
Saying "seeya long, so long, seeya later on"
It will be year.
And a year again.
Till we move with icy friends
who speak to us in chilly tones and fill our homes
with blankets and stew.
And wherever my beloved is and are.
I am missing you.
For in winter I cut the nerves from my skin.
Like mooring lines I cut them off.
And sail deep into warmer parts of myself.
Bere I lay beleaguered and becalmed.
Beleaguered and becalmed.
With all assumptions, hopes, dreams, words, bullshit remedies, recipes,
shopping lists, lists of of ingredients, bills, days (of roses?),
tissues for running noses and all known and supposed.
Distant.
Like to a shade in hell
is the star of heaven.
But all at once its Judgement Day
Spring. 2007.
And the god of air opens his sleepy mouth and yawns.
Sounding like the roar of the F-111.
Silence draws up its clothes
naked and recently cum.
As I lay in a sheet of eroticism.
Romance and cynicism.
Covered with semen.
Silence puts on its clothes.
Because it has disrupted
reason and corrupted
the season.
It wept and broke its silence.
And I comforted.
This is now the airy echo of my coital crisis interrupted.
I wake and it was but a dream.
I'm alone on blue earth and a fresh pile of nonsense steams.
Throwins steam spinning, spinning, ever spinning
and coiling in the air.
Like a signal fire from the scrub
Like a riddle in the darkness of a womb.
And of course like
the breath of spring.
which exhumes itself from the earth
it breathes and says that it has woken.
Silence was broken
and I loved it well.
The stars are distant to a shade in hell.
And I weel
For it has been hell.
So much I could mention
I have not chanced to find redemption.
Or it has not been willed or decreed.
From an icy dew drop I can not be freed.
Because the law of gravity.
The lore of stars.
Only lets us fall branch
to thorny branch.
And never to the embrace of the wind,
the warmth of the fire,
even the apathy of the earth.
The earth which has no moods.
I have no moods which are not extreeme.
I feel I could weep, cry, gnash my teeth.
'Cuz I thought for a moment that I saw fairy lights in the sky.
I thought and for a moment I beleived.
That the dawn of spring was listlessly waiting in the leaves.
I woke and it was but a dream.
I woke and it was spring.
It was September. 2007.
And by the river
we are waiting for the
Fly by of the F-111.
More mass that I have seen in any church.
There are beggars and boozeos in the lurch,
There are artists and philosophers whose eyes search.
There are simple, starry eyed children whose eyes glitter like the
river.
There are wordsmiths and song-singers.
Engineers, boatsmen with oars.
Social types, collecting for a cause.
Teens pumpes with sex and the spring air.
Beautiful ladies with blonde, brown and red hair.
Fathers with daughters.
Mothers with sons.
Old grey centurians.
And little tiny ones.
All seem to swway in the last gasp of winter.
All seem to be yawning, stretching, their arms, clearing sleep from
their eyes.
Waiting for fire to light up the skies.
On the edge of tittilation
and at the endpoint of sensation.
I almost feel redeemed.
For I have woken at this time
and it was not a dream.
A siren sounds and a green flare shoots from the Story Bridge!
My hearts beats as spring wakes to kiss me.
The moment seems to cease and say
"forever. amen"
And the crowd begin roaring!
and you can hear the soaring!
Of the F-111!
As if a great flame has erupted in the east!
Like the whole spring sun is rushing up the river at speed!
Roaring like the anger of gods and devils
We are screaming its celebration!
We are so lost in peril.
So lost, so breif, so very outlived beneath the stars.
But say we "now we shall scar the sky
Let it have its starlight. We have an F-111 fly by!"
Then like an orgasm, like an angel
Like and erupting volcano.
Fireworks launch from the Story Bridge and fill the sky!
From the river and rooftops does more flame spurt.
And we are cheering "this is spring!"
As one million we sing.
As thye scorch the sky red.
Then gold, then green.
The rivercity shakes
and with fire it quakes
and with the roar of crowds.
I am drawin my conclusions in the sounds.
Lost in hoplessness,
hopeful despair.
A breaking searchlight, intermiitent on the sea
I am there.
But I am also the searchlight sometimes
and sometimes the sea.
Sometimes I just....
love this city.
Sometimes I lose it.
And years are cobweb covered,
jaded, faded to memory and dreams.
Triumphs and failures.
Things that will or will not save us.
But I feel the spring and the river ablaze avail us.
Like looking through the darkness and glancing heaven.
We are so many souls screaming
Louder than the supersonic F-111.
We are the ember from winter flame
caught in a spring gale and
spread spinning across the sky.
The eyelight starlight
as we fly on by.
Anon we fly...
till we die.
Never knowing really who or why
Or the whys and whos of another.
Finding some friends, family and lovers.
And plenty of enemies.
The thunder of the fireworks are cracking the dark glass of midnight.
lifting the veil so we can see through.
As a million souls are singing.
"I see the light surrounding you!"
In the aura of the eclipse of all my decisions.
In the echo of the aftermath of the cataclysm.
In the prescense of memory and dreamy bliss.
In the burn of starlight and the sear of a kiss.
In the hooveprints and thunder beyond apocalypse.
In the footprints of death and the heartbeat that lives.
In all that lives and all that dies.
In the smashing, smouldering, dying stars in the skies.
In the spark, in the sperm.
In the dirt, in the worm.
In the narcotic grasp of dreams.
In the breaking seas.
In the wind, in the fire.
In the earth, in the water.
In a million dollars.
In my last twenty cents.
In redemption and recompense.
In justice, in revenge.
In friends, romance and love.
In the split of mind and soul and stars above.
In the heartache.
In September. 2007.
In the roar of the F-111
Is the hiding place of spring.
As golden sparks fall from the Story Bridge.
Like a waterfall of flame.
I am remembering all the beauty lost to me like a list of names.
And we sing halleluhah....
We're singing hallelujah on the river....
The tears come thick and thicker...
'Cuz we're singing hallelujah...
We're singing hallelujah by the river....
Hallelujah....
Hallelujah....
Hallelujah...
And as the sky erupts once more.
And a city flashes its lights
My smoky soul feels itself soar.
As the jets fly over once more.
Streaking the sky with fire.
We're so lost in the shadow of the burn.
I am all drunk and hurt but full of joy.
It's so silly.
Sometimes I just....
love this city.
Sometimes I can forgive
and have redemption.
Sometimes Avalon speaks to me.
It mentions that whatever conclusions I drew on winter's shore.
Will have no importance in evermore...
Two shadows....
Rain and Fire.
Embrace in the first moment of spring.
Whispering "You will see, child
You will see.
But for now,
Sing
We love to hear you sing.
OH how we love to hear you sing.
Just sing, child
Sing
We love to hear you sing....."
I call to them.
I sing out my soul
I have sung it all through the winter's cold.
And will on the airs of spring.
Hallelujah is what I shall sing.
Hallelujah...
Hallelujah...
Hallelujah.
Epilogue
I have woken in dreams.
To find yet more dreams.
Infinite layers.
I have wandered in the words of condemners and saviors.
And suddenly I can feel.....
Warm breeze.
like a song..
I am waking, dreaming, feeling
and singing....
Spring has sprung.
5:52 AM
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