17 September 2014


Not my ass-pi-rations but close enough to suggest 
vodka complements toothpaste & best as a mouth 
wash; there you’ve been caring enough to make it 
an excuse for that hinted taint of evidence & when 
you’re caught out your bonafides remain intact; its 
vodka isn’t it; nah mouthwash you reply, hinting of 
largesse normally unobtainable unless the minted 
overtones come from a tube of toothbrush gel 

So what’s with the decadence then; mellowing, or 
a rage against the dying of the light - more a flight 
of fantasy & one, I contend, long overdue; do you 
remember when the waking ache could only be in 
part dispelled with gargled concoction nonsenses 
erasing undiluted vodkas of the previous evening 

© 21 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

16 September 2014


A ‘first’ agreement will need more parts than 
esoteric ideas, but given we are beyond that 
obligatory cannonade there’ll need be a slew 
of adjustment, we’ll have to accept change in 
what we used to value; with the bed unmade 
I’ll sleep less-rousing accolades - & probably 
alone as you already sleep in your TV chair, 
relaxed into preferred laptop snooze mode 

But it won’t remain this way, routines take on 
colours of their surrounds, blending into grey 
extensions deemed ‘wholes’ we are obliged 
to surmise; - for clarity we’ll examine all until 
they disappear - revealing new personalities 
to cosset - to treasure as our special reality 

It won’t happen in a day; - clouds obscuring 
transparency are seen permanent-featured, 
for-granted refusals paying nothing other to 
new, free-agent, witness-bared, old-agenda 
repaved-adages that rarely appeal; - thus it 
shouldn’t surprise you none was never true 

It isn’t forked-stick chance - or slick-tongued 
opportunistic badinage - its you and me at a 
crux of something that’s bigger than either of 
us combined; but if we do not become ‘one’ 
we’ll be at its mercy - easily divided - fools 
to multitudes of frivolous platitudes 

Thus ‘who’ matters isn’t me or you - it is ‘us’ 

© 15 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

15 September 2014


Saying you’re NOT impressed by esoteric design 
concepts bests the idea of what entertains so I’m 
not a good ‘epithets’ candidate; my feedback’s no 
fantasia of enthusiastic oohs and ahas playing th’ 
lost-to-reality game - psychosis is still disease I’d 
rather not recognise as symptoms of an amazing 
recherché-expressed design talent in a kitchen to 
die for if you’re not into cooking’s corporeality 

You can agree it looks sensational; the art-work’s 
avant-garde aestheticism, a stand-alone piece of 
collectors’ memorabilia displayed so assertively it 
will never be mistaken ‘a kitchen to be worked in’
did I dare say that, oh silly me - it must’ve been a 
languorous slip of the ogre’s tongue 

© 7 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

A Podge Perspective

Podge put it in perspective today - there 
are no dramas mate, or damned decency 
about it either - like most of the day away 
less any explaining beyond a doggy pout; 
I think he calls it a canine chuckle! What’s 
th’ GO cobber I ask, if it’s about your not 
knuckling down to discipline, you’ll need 
a cracker excuse to t’ buy a reprieve - 

Or’ll y’ go ratty on me for expecting you 
stay home. He replies with erudite smirk 
implying - So, y' got a problem? Y’ knew 
where I was, y’all didn’t come fetch me 
’til they texted - c’mon, I’m not naive, 
I was there - watching the fingers fly 

© 21 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

14 September 2014

Better Ideas

It isn’t playing games, although recreational rules apply 
naming who’s on whose side; what we’re into here is a 
wiser supply of energy than brute force of saw - or axe 
to golden cane palms fractiously growing clumps into a 
view they’re supposed to compliment, not obscure; she
initially applauds ‘pruning’ efforts 

but suggests it equates more to a ‘hand-wave’ in effect 
than a serious gesture - three tries later we’re done 

Yep you can see the in-need-of-a-spray lime trees now 
while the poinciana stands stark and clear, when it’s in 
flower it will be a breathtaking scene; succulents & the 
dragon plants beneath now have an aspirant’s chance 
to impress anyone who cares to see beyond what was 
an open mesh fence around an out-of-use dog’s pen 

You try to decide what’ve we actually achieved, or is it 
clear there’s more’n met eyes afore the golden cane’s 
demise - what subterfuge, what subtlety is afoot here - 
and do we need to have its measure clear? Ah, not so 
in a way which suggests sophisticated manipulation is 
surveying the best means of expressing better ideas 

© 13 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

13 September 2014

Way To Go Jaco

Gee Jaco, that wasn’t your best display - not 
that you’ve memorably had that many of ‘em 
anyway; bit of lost cause I’d guess this trying 
to impose your ideas in th’ rain on a pitch as 
slippery as an eel with teams trying to play a 
really vigorous brand of Rugby you have yet 
to get into - then coordinate your whistle and 
brain into a unison we can understand 

There were moments when the teams gave 
up trying to comprehend what it was you’re 
supposedly attempting; they couldn’t get to 
grips with weird ideas purportedly behind a 
ruling because advantages didn’t accrue, & 
no expected player points arose from it too 

So if you’d tried to create a drawn scenario 
you succeeded, thus making a game blasé 
beyond any acceptable meaning because it 
failed to excuse referee dithering so evident; 
believe me, th’ IRB’ll be aware your goose 
is cooked and you’re no golden-egg layer 
© 18 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

Referee Jaco Peyper didn’t earn any Brownie points 
from his puzzling display, which seemed devoid of any 
explicable game control, in yesterday’s 12 - 12 drawn 
match between the Wallabies and All Blacks … 

12 September 2014


Saying nothing was achieved in a day where 
skies greyed, then temperatures eased back 
to where the winter we’d hopefully left raised 
its serpent’s head and spat vituperation; that 
paved the way for my brand of insurrection - 
a supervisor’s seat in the lounge attending a 
fire engaged slo-roasting yesterday’s bounty 
of macadamia nuts dutifully gathered for free 

Only a hardy few remain hiding amongst the 
leaves - it means at almost season’s end an 
incentive for final sweep is all but past, yet it 
is an ask to compete with thieves resident in 
the groves luxuriating among the trees; they 
paused, watched, & derisively greeted me 

© 12 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

11 September 2014

Midsomer Murders

No, I’m not watching ‘Midsomer Murders’, it doesn’t 
enchant me as much as it seems to spellbind some - 
tho’ I recognise themes with character eccentricities 
undoubtably out of a wider world, I flounder a bit as 
to how any remain alive - that’s as credibly so when 
we’ve run out room for classical ‘authentic scenery’ 
and wonderful old houses to keep those repetitious 
and droll detective dramas from going a bit too far 

But I’ll agree there’s comfort in not needing relearn 
lexicons of language, or those new words meaning 
things we’ve yet to experience day to day, so to sit 
in a TV lounge without fey traumas of ‘modernity’s’ 
machinations beaming controversially is a greater 
blessing; they’re much easier scenes to parlay 

© 6 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

10 September 2014

The Game

It is that late stage in the season - either your 
team’s made the grade, tenuously negotiated 
a way into the playoffs, or you’re spitting your 
dummy ‘bout lousy umpires, referees, official 
incompetence and/or ‘th’ snaky way my guys 
were robbed’; for you’re utterly frustrated that 
keeping th’ faith as you certainly did, isn’t any 
guarantee on an equitable return anyway

Yet you’re not going to walk away ‘While The 
Game Still Matters’ - a given you say through 
gritted teeth flicking the TV channels, hoping 
you’ll see evidence that it does; and its there 
in CentreBet investing 1,000,000:1 odds that 
your team’s about as rare as it gets 

© 10 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

09 September 2014

Shopping ‘Spree’

Saying its a statement of ‘domestication’ rates 
fairly but equates more towards the also barely 
tenable measure of late-middle-age, its generic 
catch-phrase ‘Seniors’, and we were, oldies on 
a shopping spree with quite specific objectives; 
for me undies, for th’ Lady some cute tops and 
a couple pairs of jeans - there were secondary 
objectives - agave nectar and buckwheat flour 

So I tell you we ‘managed’ it all in an hour - oh 
no way you’re going to say - asserting bravura 
incredulity, it isn’t possible to select, try on and 
buy clothes that quickly unless you knew what 
to seek or where; and to achieve such brevity 
you’d’ve already been there some time before 

I can state it was not and never the case - the 
idea came with impunity from she who’s to be 
obeyed, a challenge no less - and one played 
according to the rules of equal space, freed of 
interference and cognitive gatecrashing - then 
relieved, we did our key grocery shopping 

And that’s where training paid off; in stopping 
a mad rush entrained as rite of passage stuff 
we could enjoy looking for those things you’d 
easily pass-by as not quite what you’d expect 
to see where you weren’t really looking, yet a 
bonus to gluten-free dietary cognoscenti 

© 8 August 2014, I. D. Carswell 

08 September 2014

Storeybrook For Lunch

It was Storeybrook for lunch today - alfresco in the 
restaurant, a muster of the Woodford troop whose 
wants on food and friendship choose its magic site 
because its right - we’ve been in quandary since a 
little bird confessed it irked her that its owners had 
to go; they’re friends, and friends of friends who’d 
earned a special place within the clique that make 
this place a special scene to sit and talk and eat 

And so we thanked dear John and Kay - who’ll be 
departing in three weeks for memories we’ll warm 
and wear content in gracious ease - there’ll never 
a pair of hosts like them again; - our repartee was 
lightly spiced suggesting fine regret we’ll have to 
bear - until we see them rested ever comfortably 

© 22 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

07 September 2014

Faux Ingenuousness

If we put into the same bed all that faux ingenuousness 
there wouldn’t be enough room left for other characters; 
imagine those scenes where intrigue echoes between a 
supposed innocent and an utterly despicable incubus of 
rank duplicity - now instead of model role-play and clear 
lines delivered to a T we have an idiosyncratic oddity of  
recidivist raconteur-ism where no-one has a clue who’s 
the guilty bastard - or whether there’s guilt in any of it 

The short of it is facial tics & leery sneers don't engage  
in-character disapprobation necessary to differentiate A 
type from B - we’re in a quandary as to whom the buck 
passes to or from, & as the saying goes, innocent until 
proven otherwise - all because a structured separation 
needed to dramatise and present it properly isn’t there 

It sounds suspiciously like conversations we engage in 
most days, no overwhelming supposed character egos 
to appease or weird regional dialectical rules to abide - 
yet flows like honey with nutmeg and lime; so ergo you 
declare, why do we need overdramatic stereotypes of 
the first, or even latter, case to understand anything 

This ingenuous farce is a waste & no-one’s really that 
naive unless you’re a scriptwriter scribbling platitudes 
on TV Directors’ penchants to keep things the same 
as the last series - which probably explains anxieties 
unidentified as yet why thespian roles hadn’t evolved 
into recognition as saints still to be sanctified 

© 30 July 2014, I. D. Carswell

06 September 2014


Hanging out within deluded shades of grim 
indolent forebodings suggests this virus is 
a winner once again - never was a chance 
to best the beast - circumstance conspires 
without a second glance and feasts in fine 
concernment where distilled placidity once 
used to be; presentiments devise excuses 
best implied as unintended sacrifice 

There are no easy rites to see this through; 
we ride a tide a-slew beneath a fallow bed, 
dreading words unsaid of victims bled their 
energy in need to tide it to a brutal end, as 
yet unsure just who devised this cruelty or 
why its deathly dance descries disdain 

© 25 July 2014, I. D. Carswell 

05 September 2014

Ibis In A Tree

An ibis in a tree - hardly the view you’d expect 
of birds better known a-wading marsh flats, or 
now-a-days raiding urban dumps; you’d likely 
say it can’t be too threatened, yet as a matter 
of fact it’s about disappeared from the areas 
where it once used to live and breed freely 

And they nest in trees; hence, I guess, sense 
of comfort in lofty views isn’t wasted nor their 
worldliness - and they can see opportunity in 
picnicking forays that earn foul words with an 
ascription of being nuisances, which may be 
an overreaction to their egregious familiarity 

So don’t be surprised if sometime in the near 
future they arrive in your locality, set up shop 
in a tree and begin to patrol what they think’s 
open range - well, it is to them as they can fly 
on a wing and a prayer - make that a ‘whim’ 
and a dare - as the ‘Sacred’ Ibises’ Plan B 

© 29 July 2014, I. D. Carswell

04 September 2014

Super Rugby Title 2014

There must be something about Sydney, venomously 
polluted water from recycling their own spittle may’ve 
affected ability to see beyond a sum squared of their 
own egocentric lucidity, there’s an irony in it but they’ll 
happily wear the crumbs claiming it is the whole menu; 
normally winning a Super Rugby title 36 - 35 is a relief 
not an opportunity to strut and preen as the deserving 
supremos demonstrating their undeniable invincibility 

But we will be forgiving - it is the first time they’ve ever 
finished first, albeit unconvincingly, yet even that stays 
palpably in the records as the slimmest margin to date; 
but we’ll bet it won’t deter our NSW mates, who’ll crow 
as only they can while stating a case to be written into 
Super Rugby history as the greatest of the Greats … 

© 2 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

03 September 2014

Too Costly To View

Perhaps it was inconsequentia, in little things; 
although you’d say its trivia probably, or likely 
dismiss politely what you can't even see - tho’ 
I noticed on outset & the ad breaks got to me 
by Day Two through their bad taste. So - I am 
supposed to be an idiot and cop it sweet; but 
I can’t imbue humour easily into the dumbest 
and most demeaning ads I’ve ever viewed 

‘Connects’ are so far off-beam you conclude 
they’re aimed impersonally, and thus not too 
serious, no way are we part of the mob they 
refer to; and also - we’re sure no such idiots 
exist, because if they did it’d be ‘crazy’ proof 
of the ads’ inexplicable hokum inanity, but - 

We’re watching Regional Channel TV for our 
Commonwealth Games ‘free to air’ coverage 
and their unsophisticated & home-grown ads 
address us as ‘rustic rubes’; well boohoo, as 
soon as the Games are over - you’re off my 
sports TV venue list as - too costly to view

© 3 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

02 September 2014

Surviving TV

Don’t like saying it this way but the advertising 
style I’ve seen on our local TV is too off-beam 
to be taken seriously; either that or I missed a 
cue at the bank. The piece leading this pustch 
involved plans for funeral funding where even 
weekly commitments bettered all lavish ideas 
of exotic weddings - that was next in a series, 
with dog-bathing rounding up the wrap 

And if it wasn’t enough there’s the eHarmony 
sequences on how to find your best match, if 
you’re enthusiastically into on-line dating with 
money-back guarantees; well okay - it leaves 
one puzzled a bit but isn’t the reason for 5am 
TV - because that had something to do with

the Glasgow Commonwealth Games … 

© 30 July 2014, I. D. Carswell

01 September 2014

Mendicants Fee

The pact ‘we’ll beat this beast’ is with yourself, 
left unsaid is, or get a hiding that’ll reverberate; 
no need be indebted before registration of this 
cogent & obvious distaste for an enemy’s viral 
weaponry, and duplicit industry’s collaboration 
you remind yourself: if vaccination against ‘flu 
is the key to avoiding suffering, you’d need a 
cast iron guarantee it will actually work - but - 

There’s no compensation paid should you fall 
foul of feral anarchy abounding in viral plague; 
don’t be so naive, strains change of whim way 
out of your ken, & when hearing spokes-cow’s 
explanations, they’re never the culprits, oh no, 
according to their definition - that’s heresy - 

So while the money rolls in you’d agree its got 
to be true, and you’re committed to a defence 
against enemy using similar viruses exactly as 
they, to infiltrate & imperil both your health and 
what’s left of your sanity; ok then, so now pay 
a mendicant’s fee to the irony in that … 

© 23 July 2014, I. D. Carswell

31 August 2014

Clementine’s Day

After all it was Clementine’s day and in the nub 
of it we’re there for her smile. Now whether one 
may be unimpressed by due ceremony baptism 
didn’t phase her ‘royalness’, though it has ways 
of levelling you when you’re one year of age - 

in her own way she gave of herself, with purest 
magnetism - affording an insight into whom she 
will soon be; and she exudes confidence that’s  
unlikely to be the cherry-ripe, random-selected 
bin leavings of faux celebrity acclaim - 

rather this is the style of one who’s closer to an 
earth she sees, as a thoughtful & well-founded 
expression of where she is presently; meaning 
‘wait and see’ isn’t an ‘ok, convince me!’ sense 
of ‘who am I’ - or skewed demand for attention 

No, Clemie is above all that; so hey - welcome 
to a World we’d thought we’d tamed to lived in; 
seems we’re off any pace Clementine deigned 
to grace, and its change welcome to break the 
disingenuous embrace of such blasphemy

© 20 July 2014, I. D. Carswell 

29 August 2014

Walking The Dog

This status symbol of my guilt suggests 
the man walking the dogs isn’t me - but 
my dog rests easy, his coat’s clean and 
free of fleas & hunger pangs; least way 
he sees me twice a day when we greet 

We have plans for the long weekend, a 
pet shop trip for the new leash, which’ll
be necessary when we arrive at Boney 
Beach where we camp, all dogs under 
control please and no littering 

While I can’t speak for him he appears 
at peace with the World as we’re good 
pals who play their roles well, I quickly 
see when he’s troubled, calling for the 
handler who allays my fears; he’s a  

Bit like you he says, needs assurance 
and comfort of regular routines; it isn’t 
easy to achieve in situational mayhem 
were regulations change in eye blinks 
of carolled whimsey - such as if

Ownership won’t be granted unless an 
owner-to-be passes an agreed series 
of liberal-view tests as to who actually 
controls who, independently assessed 
by a certified, unconnected third party 

Which I see as unlikely to be me 

© 19 July 2014, I. D. Carswell