Colonial Song.

We’re failing in the heat

Like the first fleet making land

And having to contend with

Tropical torpor

What a burden

And yet we shoulder it each year

Like the dutiful sons of empire

How rich their bounty must have been

To subject us to this torture

Or perhaps it was specially devised

For those of us

Less used to colonial methods

Whereby the blimey is bled out of us

Through sun and dust

And giving the natives blankets

Or beads to blind their disgust

A fine legacy this

The unpreparedness of a conqueror

The dissimilation of a nation

The abnegation of trust

© shaun patrick green 2012

Abigail.

He crept out of the ground like a thief

Dirt under his fingernails, in his hair

Her name carved on his heart with a nail

The woman who had betrayed him, Abigail

Stood in the moonlight, breathing deep

Brushing himself off, spitting black dust

Back from the dead to tell the sad tale

Of how he would murder sweet Abigail

She had bought poison from a procurer

Dosed him twice daily to be sure of demise

But he proved stronger than her potent tale

Surviving the dire love of murderous Abigail

He crawls into her mobile home and sits

Watching her sleep sound as dogs in the night

Willing himself to end the tortured tale

Of the woman betrothed to him named Abigail

She stirs and spies his forlorn spirit

Sitting alone and vengeful in the dark

"You're here to kill me." Got it nailed

The sweet ignorance and bliss of being Abigail

He puts two bullets in her brain

Then climbs back down into his pit

Regretting the day he ever wassailed

The nothingness of sweet sweet Abigail

© shaun patrick green 2012

Boxes

He would miss certain things

The old place did have its charms

Rising damp along the passage

Low ceilings, leaking toilet

But it was real, solid and warm

With a lived-in feel you only get

From old houses with vague histories

The landlady's son had told a story

About how they used to run a sly

Betting shop out the back in the 20s

His grandmother as a young wife

Standing watch out front

Ready to give the signal

If the coppers appeared

When they did there was whistle tooting

And running up and down back alleys

Through the streets of Collingwood

He wraps plates and cups in paper

Considering the fragility

Of ordinary everyday things

How something is lost every time

We move from one place to another

Funny how you don't realise

The amount of 'stuff' you own

Until you have to pack it in boxes

© shaun patrick green 2012

heart of a nation

he looked in her mouth for teeth

but found only broken bones

battered wives, dreams of children

in her eyes he saw profound grief

secret arms deals, catholic guilt

many centuries of corruption

perhaps she could be fixed, he thought

and sent her to expensive doctors

filling their every prescription

but the drugs didn't work, never do

her hair a mess of secret deals, bribes

dreams of mass destruction

he felt himself begin to change too

his cheeks swamp-like, mushy to touch

soggy with political affiliations

his legs brittle as ethnic cleansing

back spasming with corporate greed

and ineffectual administrations

ears clogged by nationalist fervor

bowels stopped up by disillusionment

scalp itchy with frustration

doctors unable to define their condition

the common 'malaise', highly contagious

a sickness at the heart of a nation

© shaun patrick green 2012

Live Forever

When you are young inside it

You think these moments

Will always live forever

Waking in the van still stoned

Her naked body beside you

The sound of waves breaking

Smell of warm meat pies

Cracking that first beer

Dawn creaking like a behemoth

Over the still frozen horizon

Walking along a deserted beach

Like the last two people on earth

Music everywhere and shells

Like bright brittle currency

You don't question your worth

What you're doing where you're going

You just are fundamentally you

As you understand that to be

Later there may be revision

Comprehension of complications

Extenuating circumstances

But when you are young inside it

You think these moments

Will always live forever

© shaun patrick green 2012

Dream Into You

And did I ever dream into you

The possibilities of our life

With moments of joy and bliss

Moments of darkness and light?

And did I ever dream into you

The ugly person that I am

Not good in the fragile mornings

While you are awake at dawn?

And did I ever dream into you

The practicalities of living together

A man with a fetish for cleanliness

A woman with a penchant for mess?

And did I ever dream into you

The depth and sway of my love?

Because if I didn't I have failed

With my only witness heaven above

© shaun patrick green 2012

The Butcher

These streets are packed with flesh

He thinks worrying about refrigeration

Don't want it all going to waste

As the gutters fill with blood

Doing what his father did and more

Knife in hand to cut the brisket

Hands bone dry from all the washing

So as now his wife wont touch him

She so averse to the smell of sinews

How the hair clings to his fingers

Still slice, dice and wrap it in paper

How he came by it doesn't really matter

There's meat on every home table

And the streets are better cleaner

He often feels a pang of guilt

About being judge juror executioner

But with the bellies of the townsfolk

Full of quality free range red meat

He knows what he is doing is acceptable

© shaun patrick green 2012