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