Possums in the roof.

Between the winter blossoms

And whatever the hell other plants

You want to ascribe to feeling jolly

I sense a smell of shit

Granted it is vague

Slightly disturbing

Pervasive in a weird way

Yet the sky shines bright

Planes criss cross like dreams

Everybody is going somewhere

Or so it seems

Yet the smell lingers

Possibly fanned by those

Right wing possums

Who like to scamper

About the ceiling

Could politics be our conscience

Our epileptic fit

How do we deal with it?

Spasm as we always do

Wave the flag oi! oi! oi!

And leave the healing out of sync

A broken country torn in two

© shaun patrick green 2016

Darwin

If you had to pin me down

Which you will

I would blame it on the heat

It drives one to do

Strange things

Like walking around

In your underwear

With the blinds up

Wear thongs to restaurants

Walk shirtless through

The Botanical Gardens

As if it were a naked

Free-for-all

Expecting shit service in shops

A five day wait for express mail

30 bucks for a tray of lamb chops

Mangos by the box in November

And a bombing by the Japanese

The rest of the country wont remember

Mangroves striating the shore

Black fellas camping

Down in the sand

What could be finer

Than a box of wine

And seafood dinner?

This city exists at the precipice

A frontier town liable at any moment

To fall into the old dialectic

Of what ails us

Will ultimately define our generation.

© shaun patrick green 2016

What My Father Taught Me.

He stood tall and facially hairy

In that 70s style with thongs

Short stubbies and a singlet

Kicking a ball to me

Applauding when I caught

Consoling when I dropped

Disappointed when I kicked it back

Lesson: if you want approval, learn to kick

Our dog Sandy had pups one night

We were ushered in to witness

The miracle and marvel at the

Three blind, yelping, helpless

Bundles of fur clawing at the world

In the morning they were gone

Dad had drowned them in a sack

Lesson: never appear helpless

My father constantly belittled his wife

Our mother, shouting down her

Opinions and beliefs,

Calling her:"The Bear of Little Brain"

After Winnie the Pooh

Making her look foolish at every turn

Lesson: women are inferior

He cowers now behind four walls

Considering the outside world

A tyranny upon the senses

That is beyond his strength to deter

Our mother his only helper

In a dramatic role reversal

Lesson: profound appreciation of irony

Yet in his fragile state he softens
Accepting help and love and family
In a way he never would have before
Becoming more the man than we as children
Ever thought he was capable of being
Undercutting every stricture taught

Lesson: "family" is always a work-in-progress

© shaun patrick green 2016

Sunshine Coast.

In her dreams she remembers the shoreline

Could sprint to it from her door

Her mother cooked white bait and crabs

Over low embers while the men drank

And they danced in the sand as the sun set

War came and took her family to a different land

She wakes now to parrots in palm trees

Radio blaring strange words so fast

She barely understands

Her uniform is washed and ironed

It will dry as she waits for the bus

The keys rattle on her belt like jewels

In her own land she might be a princess

Here she cleans houses for tourists

She alights from the bus

Adjusting her head scarf

And walks the rest of the way

Following the map given to her

By her employer the previous day

Square white houses all look the same

But the map steers her right

She puts key to lock and enters

Adjusting her eyes to the light

Polished floors, walls white

Two stories of empty space

She considers how many family members

Of hers could live in such a place

So she wipes down benches, empties bins

Mops floors, dusts shelves

Refills the air fresheners

With a vanilla scent reminding her

Of medicine mixed by her mother

She once took for a fever

And exits, leaving this house empty

Just like the house next door,

And the house next door to it,

And so on,

Catching the bus back

To the one bedroom apartment

She shares with her mother

Brother and his son.

© shaun patrick green 2016

Mantra 42.

When the forgiveness I seek

Hides in shadow

Let me breathe

When the freedom I need

Ties me down

Let me breathe

When the person I want to be

Is out of reach

Let me breathe

When love turns to hate

And lovers leave

Let me breathe

When life has run its course

And I am at peace

Let me breathe

One

Last

Time

For this breath is so sweet

It verges on the divine

© shaun patrick green 2016

At Sea.

No tree nor trunk nor poem

Wishing against odds for change

We still slaves to the bottle

Roots sparking out

Just another infestation

The family stem has taken seed

We watch with expectancy

Still the waters run

Amongst the mangroves

Will do till the wet

We are at sea

again

Ode to the Baby Boomers.

If you twitch in your seat

Will the world give an inch

Not likely

You remain in place

Yet ever so slightly

Tectonically shifted to the right

It happens as you grow older

Plates of perspective slide

Like greased glass

You once smoked weed under trees

At university when education was free

And protest was a luxury

Now you no longer

Weep for the spread of inequity

Only the spread of your own arse

Your stomach follows too

Protruding like a balloon

Forcing you to buy elastic waist pants

You hang around malls

Wearing socks with sandals

Watching children with a creepy zeal

Not that you mean harm

Just that pace has outstripped you

Leaving you a vampire

Feeding on your own past

You watch the stock market

Cooing over your superannuation

As if the numbers were real

All those investment houses

And ironed seam trousers

Are the scaffolding for your generation

You had the best of times

Now you pout about the future

And wonder why your children are frustrated

© shaun patrick green 2016