It’s come down to this
Tim Minchin sings Neil Finn
till the cows come home
You better be home soon
then video killed the radio star
We wave sparklers in the dark
in the singing forest and consider
No new Holdens off the line in 2019
in my mind and in my car
Gotta wonder about the Bathurst
this year without the local team
We’ll be ridin’ on the horses, yeah
And the NSW Lib gov charges
Sydneyites and hangers on
Fifty five bucks a seat
for the coathanger show
It’s come down to this –
a fireworks levy.
Relax, you can see it all on TV
till the scoundrel silvertails
kill off the ABC
Doing the eagle rock
yet we still call Lostralia home.
Tousled mother and child sleep against a temporary fence,
Curl together, serene, cane bowl and coins by bare feet near the Louvre,
Closed for completion of another underground car park.
In the Place du Concours, Japanese busloads
point Nikons at streaky grey monuments
where knitters considering the contemporary charm
of the guillotine would be run over.
Locked away in the Tuilleries, romance floats with Monet’s waterlilies.
Even on a spring day after rain, the Eiffel Tower
is coyly wreathed in smog,
while down the dusty Seine, tourist boats
swarm around the Ile de la Cité and
fish bloat in the run off.
By lucid evening light, in Montmartre love affairs revive,
Chic short-skirted girls lick strawberry icecream
and watch modern masters sketch on sidewalks.
Beneath, cold-hearted youths clutch knives
and wait at lonely Metro corners.
Over the elegant Mansard roofs, tribal traffic
howls in the noxious fumes of Paris spring,
Red cars career down cobblestones meant for carriages.
There’s no charm in a million charging Citroens –
a great place to visit,
I wouldn’t want to choke there.
The current riots in Paris reminded me of this poem written after a visit to Paris. I never regretted reaching the age of 37 without a ride in a red sports car through Paris with the warm smoggy wind in my hair. This poem was published by Bruce Dawe in 1992 in the Courier Mail literary section, before it was axed. Sarkozy’s government banned beggars around the Louvre and other tourist hot spots in 2011.
Do as I say but not as I do
Screeched the preening cock-a-too
Praised by chattering yes-birds
Who don’t walk the squawk
Yet parade in vain glory
From the Great Bird’s talk.
So the Song takes precedence
Over atonal dissent
Principles aren’t meant
to be set in cement!
Why risk abandonment
By precious Flock sycophants?
Together let all of us squawk
Drown out our contradictory walk
Keep our eyes on the prize
We can do no wrong
If we adore the Great Bird
Who leads us in song!
October 1, 2018
Yesterday in the Stupormarket (a throwaway poem)
People’s heads overflow with plastic crap
Thrown onto the global garbage heap
To choke other species with trash
And then their own
The final backlash
Don’t care is made to care
when there’s none left to do the caring
Gobble gobble gobble
They can’t be bothered to remember to bring
Recyclable bags to the stupormarket
Eyerolling addicted octogenerians
Bubble wrapped the future
A plastic floating continent
On expansion of forgetfulness
Parasitical capitalism breeds
of having so much
You can afford to discard
Without a thought or care
Trolley rage goes national
Surging through rigid brain aisles
Even the checkout boy complains
Take take take
Consume consume consume
Chuck the leftovers into the ravine
To poison the oceans and streams
Buy buy buy oblivion
It’s what civilised humans do
The way it’s always been they say
Nimby nimby nimby numbskulls
Jinjirrie, July 2018
Deakin University’s Centre for Employee and Consumer Wellbeing behaviour researcher Dr Paul Harrison the disconnect had to do with “the difference between an attitude and a behaviour”.
“People can say, ‘I like the idea of having to bring my own bags’, but people struggle with those things. You can say you’ll do something but whether you’ll do that are two different parts of the brain,” Dr Harrison said.
“Getting into neuroscience, the prefrontal cortex says, ‘Yes of course I can do that’, but the prehistoric brain says, ‘I’ll just keep doing what I’ve always done.'”
Whitey’s Still on the Moon
Whitey gets a pass
because whitey is whitey
and white is right
whitey leads the fight
of the righteous struggle
of those oppressed
by benevolent whiteness
whitey’s the biggest victim
circling white wagons
white saviour behaviour
honoured by whitey
for wealth and privilege
take up the white man’s burden
dissent is sacrilege
pre-ordained fame and fortune
whitey won the lucky dip
to captain white-sailed ships
first on the list
whitey’s got a ticket to ride
most active of activists
yachts to burn
marches to march
white gutless wonders watch
and silence is assent
quiet as white mice
no white divisiveness
of imperial solidarity
this exploitative opacity
colonise the colonised
the way it’s always been
whiteness is rightness
the rough Beast’s in Jerusalem
Gil Scott Heron embraced BDS
and whitey’s on the moon still.
Jinjirrie, March 2018
They’ve lied once too often
to be trusted on their word
Craven politicians polish
yet another turd
The public’s asked to buy
a “Russian novichok”
While the greedy Toadball class
put us all in hock,
Cut those corporate taxes!
Give the rich another break!
It’ll trickle down to you scum
So our mates are on the take?
On military exports
the western world depends
Who cares if our warmongering
causes life on earth to end?
Jinjirrie, March 2018