adam and eve.

rusted fence dry grass
she sees faces in rain
dark insidious meaning harm
away like a startled bird
he follows dog faithful
broken earth dying trees
there is no rest here
she points to rock
he lies in its shadow
marks old as time
only she can read
her hand a sign
he will bleed

return the egg she says
stars scraping overhead
he whimpers foetal
says the shell is cracked
there is no going back
moon hiding vengeful
they follow in cars
tracking closer
she spits lightening
he thinks if only he
could see as she
the spear might not
have pierced so deep

© shaun patrick green 2013

Ode to Bunnings.

And on the seventh day everybody dies
Drives to Bunnings, pays two dollars fifty
For a feel-good community-conscious sausage
Trying to remember what it’s like to be alive
As we wander aimlessly from aisle to aisle
Drilling team members on pergola construction
Concrete mixing, baton fixing, soil acidity
But the staff are no use – they’re zombies too
Sold their souls for that red shirt/green apron
Combination that makes them look like Xmas trees
With their lifeless smiles and their heads on TV
What did we do with ourselves on weekends
Before “The Block” turned us into the renovating undead?
Did we find morons interesting before “Big Brother”?
Did we “drizzle” or “plate-up” before “Masterchef”?
Still there is the pull of this big tin shed
Where gift cards buy Own Brand power tools
That die in our hands after a month of use
No matter, kept the receipt, return for exchange
Our shoddy sander tipped in a dumpster with others
And sent for ‘recycling’ to China where it was made
A self-inflicted vicious circle: our need for cheap
Thrills keeps us shuffling over their concrete floors
Nothing new, of course, stole the idea from Ikea
At least in Bunnings you can find the exit doors


© shaun patrick green 2013

Five Lessons.

Teach me to love with a gentle heart
That I might accept your faults and mine
Be not quick to judge and given time
Understand how to be together when apart

Teach me to kiss with gentle lips
Rather than consume with selfish greed
As if all that mattered was my need
A thirsty man gulps - a sated man sips

Teach me to speak with a gentle tongue
Not to hack and slash with words as swords
But to empower, ennoble, encourage, reward
To honour the dead, to inspire the young

Teach me to touch with a gentle hand
To stay the stinging blow, the angry grab
The derisive gesture, accusatory stab
Instead calm, befriend, help others to stand

Teach me to be all that I am not
Open my closed mind, push me further
We have the rest of our lives together
Just as well for I am a slow learner


© shaun patrick green 2013

Cold Turkey.

Nights trussed in kitchen string dreams
Awake,sweating, splitting at the seams
Two weeks on the wagon, I've flatlined
Waiting in my body bag, killing time
Drawn to dark corners like a bug
Inspecting every speck of dust
Everything hurts, even daylight
And insane people like flies
Linger too close for too long
My skin clammy, pimpled, wrong
Half a mind to kill someone
Don't know where the other half has gone
No doubt it slipped out with a fart
Or exploded during some simple task
The remains left on a shelf in specialty meats
Next to the liverwurst, ham and cold turkey

© shaun patrick green 2013

Diary of a Bastard.

His need for her might be based

Upon misconceptions, variables

Of both time and obviously of place

He knew a girl once in a southern town

Black hair and she smelled like tarragon

Took her to a loft overlooking the bay

Felt her insides like white fish

And decided this was not the way

Met Roxanna and danced the night away

Next day awoke to find she was a he

Now that's no way for adults to play

Unless they're both consenting

Then there was that girl in Padua

Who cooked the best Matriciana ever

Pity she was so bad in bed

He thinks of all the lovers he has had

In countries free and forewarned

He can't think of a more appropriate bride

Than the one that's close to hand.

© shaun patrick green 2012

Crocodile Park

Saw them sunk in their pens

3 to 4 meter long man-eaters

Ancient offspring of the dinosaurs

True survivors of mass extinction

They are ambush predators

Waiting in the shallows

With senses so attuned

They can tell from your footsteps

Vibrating through the earth into water

Exactly how far away and where you are

Though they are still dumb animals

Tempted for tourists by pieces of meat

Hauled out on lines into the lagoon

Still sudden death is intimated

By the earnest guide who has come close

To losing limbs or digits once or twice

Once fed they settle back into the ooze

To produce more wallets, burgers

And high price handbags

Though their forbears out there

Might bristle at the misuse

© shaun patrick green 2012

Coup de Art (for Spook)

If I stayed in here, confined

Bottled as you will - I might become

One of these paintings,

Risk you take when you live with an artist.

So many images to choose from:

The Boggle Eyed Mao with flacid penis decoration

Communist Train Girl selling her fruits and beers

The Communist party meeting with scorpions and

Smoke haze converging the hidden mountains

The lassitudinous positioning

Of the well hung Kangaroo

Amanda Vandstone shooting her poisonous tits at us

I mean, mate, what are we to make of that?

Corporate takeover my friend.

We with our billions now control you

Fuck your paintings because we will

Rebuy them and Repaint them!

Fuck Fred Williams and Russell Drysdale

They were crap anyway

So lets make them go large

Like main screen in Fed Square

With grafitti art over the top

With audience participation

Lets deface these icons of Australian art

Oh sorry - not deface

But re-interpret

And the souls of people like McCubbin

Are yours to throw around like paper machete.

© Shaun Patrick Green 2012