The Flower-Flop Interregnum.

Am I sick of the drama?

Do I want to dive back in?

The in-again, out-again

Can I see an opening?

You closed me up well enough

Sutured the wound against fester

Applied enough disinfectant

To let me know how much I wouldn't miss you

But the delusion lingers:

Do I still have love to give?

I guess it never ends,

While there's still a life to live

The fear lies in starting over,

Laying one's heart on the line

When it's so freshly broken

Chopped and steeped in brine

How do you give when you have nothing

How do you bring something to the table?

When the faith you put in life is gone?

You are willing but unable?

Hope seems a joke word

Charity far from the door

Strangers may look in

But they will be ignored

Can you start a heart up

That has been falsely stopped?

I guess its in the chest

Of the guest who knows best

As to whether love has flowered or flopped

© shaun patrick green 2019

the price of love

met you in a dive bar

should have known the odds

dealing with fucking junkies

not with living gods

why am I drawn to tragedy?

I ask myself that question

looking into the mirror

seeking someone else's reflection

love is never a guarantee

against unending sorrow

take a chance, have a dance

we'll be dead by tomorrow

warming earth, dying sea

take my hand in this dark hour

a world for you, a world for me

if only we had the power

i live to take it

you take it to live

money is the difference

and no one's willing to give

i hate conformity

you conform to hate

lick your lips, covet me

there's nothing left to save

on a dying earth, a flaming sea

we'll be a power couple

i know you'll bend to the cause

because you're so damn supple

you fuck me like a champion

suck cock like its meth

only thing between you and freedom

will be your untimely death

if I'd found you in a dumpster

I'd throw you right back in

but i didn't and i need you

so let the pain begin

(c) shaun patrick green 2019

Cup-Runneth-Over Kind Of Guy.

Give me a moment while I struggle

With my first-world troubles:

I'm not fit for consumption

Have lost the means of production

Been shot into space

Where I disintegrate and orbit

With the rest of the junk

Lost the funk, never found the soul

Been wrapped in plastic and buried in a hole

Where I'll take a thousand years to breakdown

So get me out of this town

Give me clean country air to pollute

Land rights to dispute

Holes to dig, minerals to spruke

Forests to cut down and burn

Its about the cash at every turn

You heard me: I am the left and the right

And everything in between

Nobody knows the horrors I've seen

I've punched, stabbed, kicked, shot,

White-anted colleagues, lost the plot

Losing my hair, growing fat,

A killer with the mind of a bureaucrat

I salute the flag when it suits me

Dismembered more bodies than I care to remember

I find women and immigrants so hard to please

I just keep them locked up or on their knees

The poor - even worse, so I see they remain poor

And call it "aspirational", only it's the reverse

Because, at the end of the day, its all about

Protecting my salary, my gratuity,

My bonus, my pension, my annuity

I'm a white man out of time

Committing white collar crime

Its open season on reason

And I'm taking back what's mine

Forget your glass-half-full

I'm a cup-runneth-over kind of guy

And this is my fifteen minutes

I'm not looking for forgiveness

This... this is my time to shine

© shaun patrick green 2019

Change.

(for Zoe Eszter Green)

There was never any thought of you

No idea of what I was getting into

But to save a marriage I went against

My instincts and followed through

It was twelve weeks in when your mother

Was diagnosed with breast cancer

We had to wait until the second

Trimester for her to undergo surgery

You lay safe in her tummy

Unaware of the emergency

Then she went back to work too soon

And caught a multi-resistant bug

That put her in a coma

And defied antibacterial drugs

It was touch and go

A doctor confiding to me

That if not for the Gentamicin shot

She would be dead

Your mother decided not to go back

To work which was wise

But when she went into labour

Came the third surprise

An emergency C section

To save both your lives

You were pulled gruel grey

And wet and clearly unhappy

Like a puppet above the gauze

But as soon as you touched mum's chest

You sought what boob was left

And I was amazed at all the suicides

Because life finds a way

It is encoded in our DNA

Just as being a dad

Must have been jolted within me

While your mum tried to bleed out on the table

I was ushered into a room

You wrapped in a blanket

And I sang to you for two hours

Waiting to hear the news

Until your mother was wheeled in, alive

Barely, and you reconnect to the boob

I sat by, watching the bonding as

The nurse stood by, busy but charitable
We took you home, the caring begun
Each day a joy of life tightly won

We shut ourselves off from change

But like death and taxes, it is inevitable.

© shaun patrick green 2019

Don't Rip Out My Breast And Leave My Arse Behind.

(for Anthony Bourdain R.I.P.)

You dress in camouflage

As a good predator should

And stalk me with keen senses

Just as the crocodile would

But when I feel you are near

And flap into the sheltering sky

You take your best shot

I might fall, I might fly

But if I fall and your mutt

Retrieves, a game he doesn't mind

Don't rip out my breast

And leave my arse behind

Like the pig and the kangaroo

You can hunt us for sport or food

But if you take an animals life

You should then take every part

With your knife

Not just the sweet meats

The fillets and cheeks

But the bones and sinews

The arseholes, the beaks

Use the whole of us

Or else you are wasting our lives

Leaving giblets for scavengers

Who are not here for revenge

Simply to live like you or I

Even if their stomachs

Have less discerning eyes

© shaun patrick green 2019

Living The Dream.

Fifteen and on the basketball team

We made the finals and the weakest guy

Got subbed on before me because our Coach

Who had trained us all year

Didn't notice me sitting kitted up

Thought I was a fan or family

So we lost, victory within reach

Why should the memory of my defeats

Overshadow my victories

Depriving me of sleep needed

To rebuild these corpuscles

Facing each day more depleted

The clogging of arteries

Cramping of muscles

All signalling an ineluctable decay

Why should dreams be suffocated

By a murderous mediocrity

A meanness of spirit

So that we all face this same disarray?

Addled in our thirties

Disconsolate in our forties

In our fifties just ready to fade away?

We had dreams once, didn't we?

So where have they fled to now?

To the political backwaters of our minds

To the impossibility of how

I see the orange shirt of hypocrisy

And wonder why this country sold its soul

For fat fools in the senate

And extremist morons in control.

© shaun patrick green 2019

Staying On Message.

Save the Beach

For whom?

Save the Forest

For whom?

Save the Whale

For whom?

Save the Reef

For whom?

Save the Natives

For whom?

Save the Panda

For whom?

Save the Tiger

For whom?

Save Paradise

For whom?

If you're poorer than poor then not for you

If you got no job and can't afford food

Then biodiversity is a theory for dudes

Always white, middle class, not meaning to be rude

But they have the privilege to choose

To put morals before mouths, right before true

While developing nations are considered crude

For allowing their masses, whose labour we use

To aspire to the simple things all westerners do

If we leave them behind, it is a day we will rue

For Africa and Asia have millions to imbue

With a stake in equity, control over what's new

Stay on Message

Australia is the Greatest Country in the World!

Stay on Message

Australia is the Greatest Country in the World!

Stay on Message

Australia is the Greatest Country in the World!

Stay on Message

How good is Australia?

Australia is the Greatest Country in the World!

© shaun patrick green 2019

I Met A Man With A War Inside.

I met a man with a war inside

He opened his chest, ten miles wide

A void where his heart used to reside

I met a man with a war inside

I met a man with a war inside

Didn't ask for help, he drank and he lied

His wife now gone, his children hide

I met a man with a war inside

I met a man with a war inside
Every deal a sabotage, every meal a bribe
Suspecting the enemies might be on his side
I met a man with a war inside

I met a man with a war inside

Couldn't put a name to his pain or describe

The mortal horrors that within us abide

I met a man with a war inside

I met a man with a war inside

Lost his pole star, his only guide

Deserted in the desert, brain completely fried

I met a man with a war inside.

I met a man with a war inside

Thrashing against the rising tide

Didn't want others to think he'd never tried

Said he never met a man without a war inside

© shaun patrick green 2019

Another Lullaby.

(for Zoe Eszter Green)

There will be a time to cry.

It is not now, child,

It is not now.

There will be a time to hide.

It is not now, child,

It is not now.

There will be a time to be afraid.

It is not now, child,

It is not now.

There will be a time for deals made.

It is not now, child,

It is not now.

There will be a time when justice is done.

It is not now, child,

It is not now.

There will be a time when battles are won.

It is not now, child,

It is not now.

Now is the time for dreams

Of a world that is fair and good,

Where everyone gets what they need,

Where everyone does what they should.

So may this night protect you,

Keep you safe from harm.

Take this kiss upon your brow,

This warmth from my arms.

Close your eyes and sleep in peace

For I will chase the monsters away

So that you may yawn and wake

To another sun-bright day.

© shaun patrick green 2019

Rum Jungle

We stared at the Gamba Grass,

A wall of imported infestation,

And dreamed what this place could be

With time and hard work -

A locus of loss

Transformed into gain.

Our daughter revels in the space,

Hardly knowing which stick to whack

Or which anthill to dismantle

With her enthusiasm.

We pat ourselves on the back

For getting her outdoors,

Away from smartphones, iPads and TV,

Jumping on her trampoline

In the shade of an African Mahogany

Where the red dirt cools

And shifts to grey.

There were warnings:

First, a Kingfisher skewered

On the barbed wire fence,

Still breathing, beak moving,

Opening and closing slowly

Like a rusty hinge;

Then the apocryphal tale

Of how this place derived its name -

Bullock train drivers

Stranded on their northward trek,

Wet season trapping them

In cages of Pandanus,

They consumed their entire consignment of rum.

I imagine them half insane from drink,

Humidity and insects, lying prone

Inside sodden canvas tents

Turned crimson by sunset.

In the evenings

A breeze picks up drying sweat,

Flocks of parrots flit busily

Seeking secure perches,

Fruit bats flap languidly,

Eucalypts curve anthropomorphic,

Tinged pink by a reddening sky

As we sip G 'n' Ts on the deck,

Contemplating dinner,

Hearing no car horns

Or telephone rings.

Night drops like a wet tarp

Spangled with shards of glass.

This place cares not for us.

Tomorrow the wallabies might visit,

Keeping low in the morning mist,

Silent and watchful as they graze.

© shaun patrick green 2019

Homecoming.

If I don't offer you comfort

It is because my mind has gone

Packed up and left in the

Middle of the night

No forwarding address

So I cope on a day-to-day basis

Not bad for a man in stasis

But I'm not entirely sure of who I am

I weed the garden

Cook dinner

Listen to my wife complain about work

And wonder to myself:

Where is this?

How did I get here?

What do I do now?

Apparently, lawns are mowed

Sunday mornings

Pools are cleaned

BBQs scraped

Gas bottle filled

The leaf blower is given a workout

And when the noise stops

Only a breeze moving leaves

You sink back into the aircon

And wonder what

All the fuss was about

You sleep tight

Alcohol assisted

And if it rained last night

You definitely missed it

Then you wake

Check the calendar

See another day has passed

Each day following each day

More teleological than the last

Until time stops

Wouldn't that be a grand thing?

No more lawnmowers

Or leaf blowers

Only the cold mineral glint

Of stars slowly dying

The notion of peace at last

In a universe reduced to dust

If one day my mind chooses to return

I don't quite know what I would say

"Welcome back," or "I missed you,"

Or "Did you forget your wallet?"

Or "How was your day, honey?"

None of these are funny

But they express the banality

Of a homecoming finally

Where ones best friend and companion

Has been away.

© shaun patrick green 2019

in the bending river.

in the bending river I see her

head lowered

so mother could wash her hair

from a cold bucket

tin shed for shade

out on the boat from England

to a red paradise

she would hide

in the long grass

tricking her sister

ants biting like a shot

in scant places to hide

running pink skinned and semi-clad

between the workers huts

where the blokes ate bully beef

sipping ale till morn

then standing up to labour

crack of dawn
she rising with a big sun
golden fingers in her hair
promise of grand things

river bending beneath them

a curve in the land 
beyond understanding

she digs between the weeds
hoping to find wonder
but the river does not lie
flowing ever onward

to bend upon bend
meeting a man in a band
dancing hand in hand
then horizontal 
in the back of his car
bending over to come so far
marriage a shotgun conclusion
then having children of her own

a bending river teaching her

how to dip and sway

through the midway

where dreams die and we grow

accustomed to comfort

until death is done with this

and we meet our end
bending again to some winding river 
so that she knows where it all began

© shaun patrick green 2019