Let's Just Dance.

An audio poem, produced by myself:

https://soundcloud.com/blimp-72963036/lets-just-dance 

Radiation

If this is love,

Then the soft things are missing,

The comfort, the ease of being

Together, the enjoyment of a

Sunset without alcohol?

 

If this is love,

Why do we hide in the dark,

Praying to the god of boxed wine,

Fearing neighbours sifting our rubbish,

Finding our empties violate protocol?

 

If this is love,

Why are you pissed as a pirate

And swearing like a wharfie

By the time I have to read

Our daughter her bedtime story?

 

If this is love,

Why are your parents

Staging an intervention

When I thought I could save you

And provide protection?

 

If this is love,

Then love is an inflammation,

Which, with antibiotics and time,

Will diminish slowly,

Like radiation.

 

©Shaun Green 2025

The Winds Of Change.

I felt the winds of change in 1989,

When the Berlin Wall came down.

I was 19 years old and it felt like Freedom was all around.

 

I could feel the winds of change blowing

When John Howard announced the gun

Buy-Back scheme after

The Port Arthur Massacre.

 

I heard the winds of change screaming

When John Howard was defeated by

Kevin Rudd in 2007, after

11 years of conservative oblivion.

 

I basked in the winds of change

When Julia Guillard became our first

Female Prime Minister and schooled

Tony Abbott on misogyny.

 

I sailed on the winds of change

When Barrack Obama became the first

Black man to be elected president of

The United States of America.

 

I tasted the winds of change

When Scott Morrison lost to Albanese

And people on welfare would finally

Be allowed their dignity.

 

I marvelled at the winds of change

When women marched on mass

To Parliament House, calling for an end

To Domestic Violence.

 

I no longer feel the winds of change

Making my skin prickle,

Pushing the blood a little faster

Through my veins.

 

Change has been promised

Too many times and never arrived,

Leaving me unable to rebuild hope

From the rubble of what remains.

 

©Shaun Green 2024

Hold Tight.

Hold tight

Hold tight to love

Hold tight

Hold tight to freedom

Hold tight

 

Hold tight to hope

 

Hold tight

 

Hold tight to ideas

 

Hold tight

 

Hold tight to friends

 

Hold tight

 

Hold tight to history

 

Hold tight

 

Hold tight to democracy

 

Hold tight

But not too tight

Because if you hold too tight

To love it becomes hate

And if you hold too tight

To freedom it becomes fanaticism

Hold too tight to hope

It becomes delusion

Hold too tight to ideas

They become ideology

Hold too tight to friends

They become enemies

Hold too tight to history

And it becomes HIS story

Hold too tight to democracy

It becomes fascism

 

So hold tight

Hold tight…

But not too tight

 

 

 

©Shaun Green 2024

Is Anybody Asking The Narcissists: Are You OK?

It’s a thankless task,

Trawling the narcissists

To see if they’re Ok.

Sometimes we see

Someone’s Facebook page

Drop to less than three posts a day.

That’s when we know we need to act,

To add a smiley face, love heart,

Or like so they can go their way

Through their day,

Solid in the knowledge

That the world has got their back

And cares about the lack

Of attention the waiter paid

To the water level 

In their dog’s bowl

Or the level of froth 

On their child’s

Bambichino, because, you know,

These things matter!

Like zucchini flowers in batter!

If your go to café doesn’t

Serve them right,

Then a war crimes trial 

Is pending.

So what else is trending?

Beauty tips for ugly people,

Super diets for fat people,

Plastic surgery tips,

Chick pea and lemon dips,

Hot bods doing workouts,

Feeling the burn in those quads,

Lats and abs as they crush

Those crunches and run 50 laps.

Thumbs up, clapping hands, 

Love hearts💖💖💖💖

We have to keep them loving themselves,

Because without them,

The internet would just be a desert,

Populated by interesting people

Who just want to talk to each other.

And that is not a business plan

Anyone can sell.

 

©Shaun Green 2024

Weak Spot.

We all have a weak spot,

That’s what he said.

Didn’t know what he meant.

Was he talking about mortality

Or a more fundamental reality,

Where toxins in food, air and water

Find binding points in bodies

To cause corpuscles to coalesce

Into cancers,

Like the nitrates in my ham sandwich

Seeking a soft point in my bowel

To mutate cells and truly become

A pain in my arse?

We all have a weak spot,

That’s what he said.

But was he referring to a chink

In the armour that makes you think

You can be calmer when your life

Is out of control,

Drinking too much,

Running your mouth off,

Acting like a dick when you swore

To yourself that was the last thing

You would ever be...

Again.

We all have a weak spot,

That’s what he said.

And I checked my shit:

Love, life, relationships,

Looking for a loophole

Where a DNA sized mole might,

Out of pure spite,

Sink its teeth into the meat of me,

Ripping out emotions

That pour in oceans incarnadine,

While I run around frantic,

Finger at the ready,

Looking for holes to plug

To stop the Atlantic.

We all have a weak spot,

That’s what he said.

And if we’re not dead then life

Hasn’t found it...

Yet.

 

©Shaun Green 2023

Free Range Children.

My brother and I rode our bikes

To the tech school, did monos,

Pissed in doorways, played cricket

As if no one was watching.

Our parents certainly weren’t.

It was the 80s, well before

Paedophiles, rapists, killers,

Although Chopper was in jail

Just down the road.

But he was a good guy, misunderstood: 

He only targeted crims,

The earless long arm of the law,

Taking it easy in Jika Jika

While the guards fed him

Cigarettes and porn.

Now that I think about it,

My parents were taking a gamble.

Either they thought the world was safe

Or they didn’t give a shit.

They were thrust into responsibility

Too early and decided

It was not for them:

Dad wanting to be a rockstar,

Mum wanting to be a groupie,

So children were an afterthought…

Like handbags or shoes or that first

Dire Straights album (you know the one, 

before they were famous?).

In the 80’s, children were accessories:

Easily lost, rarely found,

But delivered back with a no-return policy.

I have fond memories of my childhood,

But beneath that is a creeping horror

That I might be remembering it wrong:

That it was actually no different

To any other time in human history,

When the bad fought the good and,

Despite the hype,

The bad always won.

But I can’t believe that.

I look back on a golden time

Through rose-coloured glasses

And think: it’s alright. 

It’s all good.

Yeah, I’m fine.

 

©Shaun Green 2023