01 August 2014

Weathering The ‘Flu

Been the toughest three weeks in a while; 
from previous memory there’s rarely more 
than a few days despairing ever seeing an 
end to th’ damned viral pestilence, but not 
on this occasion, a theme we’ve begun to 
view as accruals of ageing, & ungratefully 
we might add; altho’ raging about it won’t 
change anything; isn’t like it once was or 
we’ve become easy targets to fey strains 
specifically mutating upon the over 60’s - 

So we slow pace, engage in sit and wait - 
mediate a piece accepting it as it is, and 
for what it is, recognise these symptoms 
as soberest rationalisations possible in a 
no-win situation where we fall foul easily 
& well short of its line’s sombre breadth, 
and yet there is no comfort in doing right 
when little death’s of once ‘unassailable’ 
privileges pall and freeze in ill-humoured 
atmospheres of incredulousness 

Why doesn’t it go away when it’s run its 
damned course is the tacit interrogation 
inciting us to muted antipathy - leave us 
be when you’ve conquered all the weak 
and lame in an unassailable victory; we 
would like nothing better than a slice of 
our lives back, less the headaches and 
phlegm-invested coughing-bouts; same 
is said by all in shamelessly dreading a 
case of this afterlife’s patent oligarchy 

© 31 July 2014, I. D. Carswell

30 July 2014

Unique Reckoning

this is a tactile memory of what it 
means to be  and it is wholly true, 
there’s no blue substitute, go fool 
yourself elsewhere if you won’t be 
warned here’s where it’s at; ersatz 
versions of real morning embrace 
will fail, suborning the very idea of 
why such comfort really exists  

whereas the real deal shared in an 
awed moment’s awakening, bodily 
expressed in innocence, caresses 
encircling warm contours of nearly 
aware thought is as good as it can  
ever get at any breaking of dawn 

& there you will find me - halfway 
between delirious pinch of reality  
and waking dream - reaching for 
solidity which exists, connecting  
pillowed frame blending buttocks 
into a unique reckoning of you 

© 23 June 2014, I. D. Carswell

27 July 2014


it doesn’t take much to baffle the upset cart; 
like half an idea compromised by too far an 
honest loving of freedom’s sense, so where 
the hell is it then - to honour thy parents will 
recompense they say - eventually you’ll get 
paid for such decency - if you don’t stray off 
the beaten path, playing by rules of avarice 
or casting your lot with the ruling swine 

it wasn’t the way my mum & dad held onto 
simplicity; time after time they said we’re a 
last resort for matters beyond the measure 
of antipathy and arrogance - unless you’re 
already swayed by its commonwealth and 
paid to be a sycophantic clone 

didn’t agree then and don’t do now unless 
you’re of the same opinion as me - and I’ll 
slew that view into a full-blooded lament - 
or a compliment if you wish - which tunes 
into who we are without measure applied 
by our forsaken & surplus hegemony 

© 20 June 2014, I. D. Carswell

26 July 2014

Georgia’s Day

Being ‘party’ to a four year old’s 
coming-out demonstrates social 
obligations fairly - she’ll be seen 
in company of antecedents who 
rarely fuss - squaring-up books 
of who’s what & thus casting an 
easy-to-wear impression of just 
what a gem she is really - then 

Meeting her co-respondents, or 
more accurately their mums - a 
dad or two, and siblings who’re 
‘cherry-tomato-&-spoon’ derby 
unenthused - but give balloon 
‘tween knees races approval 

So basking in glow of her peer’s  
admiration has arrears, but you’ll 
know when pester & pique palls 
and four-year-old approvals roar 
unanimously for a birthday cake 
served alfresco in the park 

It is then the dare to be amused 
lets the lark free - children share 
a moment’s reverie around cake 
masticated in gustatory panache 
sitting quietly en masse, wow … 
& we’re amazed - naturally 
© 16 June 2014, I. D. Carswell

25 July 2014

We’d Disagree

The idea my poems appear out of a black hole 
appeals to me - probably with ample evidence; 
tho’ I’m no scientist, & regretfully my math isn’t 
too fitting either, there are circumstances, or if 
you’d prefer it, extenuating regalia where what 
I represent can be likened to collapsing mass 

Think on it a piece; where solidity of common 
elements in per se themes representing what 
we embody used to be - there is a gap left as 
wide as any desert arid of meaning; & who th’ 
Hell are you, is the accusation, well - still me I 
guess, but I perceive you’re a bit different 

You see I’m looking down a conduit which fell 
in on itself through overuse - ran out of space 
is the trite way to say it, and moved on - good 
grace allows me retain connects made a long 
time ago but it wont stay that way, so, right or 
wrong I need redress who you really are - 

If you’re hearing what I think I’m saying we’re 
in the same place, there isn’t another - or if it 
isn’t - we’d disagree … 

© 18 June 2014, I. D. Carswell

24 July 2014


If utterly blasé one could maintain it’s 
a lesser way of keeping balance, that 
mode of being aloof without damaging 
toeholds of conscience you wrought by 
self-denial, and cleared of but not freed, 
assuaging agonies; you’re somewhere 
in between obviously, if not its victim, 
then sacrifice at least, but you’ll never

Be right; she will see to it victory stays 
chaste and free of taint, and irony isn’t 
the box seat she’s got at your operatic 
debut but in who wrote the tunes you’ll 
have to sing an aria to before curtains 
deign to quiver awake - and finally fall 

Happy Birthday Lady; so may the last 
solo be praise sung in harmony; what 
a fine fusion of naiveté - of grace and 
dignity bested in belief change’s safer 
than accepting reality; the differences 
forsake what the World gives away 

© 12 June 2014, I. D. Carswell

23 July 2014

Seeney’s Sense

Me old mate Jeff Seeney’s at it again; pissed off 
playing th’ tame sarky dork bleachers act - he’s 
dug through th’ Deputy Premier’s pile of trash to 
slap some ‘own-back’ on Clive Palmer - ok, they 
never were good mates; Clive’s got ‘education’, 
Jeff failed the entrance exam. Clive is suing the 
gang for defamation; gee, was it something Jeff 
said? He’s got a gobsmacking way with words 

But that’s the way it is in Queensland - buddies 
one minute - biffing each other the next; Clive’s 
a Federal MP ex-local LNP tragic wannabe who 
‘saw the light’ was Canberra - & after he’d been 
screwed by the home team in some unsavoury 
business which Clive initiated claims Jeff

Or might it be Cammo (aka ‘Gollum’), who’s put 
out a bit by th’ shouting and gesturing, fingering 
a few old wounds and keen to get his dignity on 
line again; neither seem aware they’re ‘grass’ to 
a sham which makes our governing LNP Party’s 
arrogant ‘ethical’ stance even more of a farce 

© 11 June 2014, I. D. Carswell

22 July 2014

Bits And Pieces

A bits and pieces sort of day, nothing really took 
control to make impressions last, or covertly play 
parts where passé adages are pooled in a wash 
of their own rendering; so it’s null and void you’d 
like to say, blending in vast androgynous space 

And it stayed that way - like a conscious choice 
apace with itself; so even the greetings received 
were low-key mutations of a no longer longed for 
recognition staying clean of controversy - please 
keep some for me, comes the plaintive cry 

You’ll have to think about that; why hadn’t those 
so-useful-in-the-past fillips spawned advantages 
you might cajole, tactfully of course, into routes 
marked clearly with signs and interval distances 
between what you’d hope to and can’t achieve 

You surmise, there’s not a lot I could do anyway 
my plan changed when the sun rose awkwardly 
I couldn’t find reason to redefine objectives that 
were never my own; as such just getting by is a 
reward huge enough to hide in comfortably 

So you’ll live with it until something insuperable 
comes to pass; look, my hearing aids now relay 
gist of conversations I did without for years - but 
I participated by reading lips - maybe its still too 
ingenuous to slip sideways from here 

© 15 July 2014, I. D. Carswell

21 July 2014

Let It Rest

So I’m supposed to suffer nobly in delivering a 
self-inflicted service - its not too derelict - daily 
evaluation of a viral infections course; ja, easy 
peasy, jot down observations, but let’s say I’m 
failing to deliver, I can’t equate what I feel with 
words that quiver in meaning beyond unfailing 
feeling of desperate confusion - and lassitude 
that invades all of my lexicons dispassionately 

We start the day with bemused headache - its 
sometimes subdued but lurking always, either 
to front or rear - oscillating side to side today - 
where temples might claim territory - had they 
enough nerve to front and be counted; but the 
toughest bit’s being in thrall to triviality 

I claim one victory - this bit recorded in a way 
I reckon explains my attention span’s demise; 
it has become less interested in the afflict and 
tries to orientate on disappearing wider space 
that used to be there on demand - its a tunnel 
vision you’re creating here I try to say 

That’s wasted argument and the drift’s begun 
to another rubicon - playing full deck solitaire 
to keep the mind impartially out of the ruts its 
dug itself into; at least we’re doing something 
which exercises ‘intellect’ and hand-and-eye 
coordination is the stratagem’s defence 

But even that palls so we rephrase the words 
into an explanation that suggests four minute 
engagements is about all there is to it - if you 
can keep focus within the buzz and drift, or a 
vacillation of digestive tract anarchy - unsure 
which bit is supposedly cause or effect 

Thus - suffice to say, we’ll let it rest 

© 10 June 2014, I. D. Carswell

19 July 2014

Where The Eye Is

Any ideas there’re things of merit occurring 
which weren’t part of FIFA’s World Cup are  
chastened - or so it seems; & ’ow dare y’al
compare different sports thought t’be those 
that matter; soccer’s unique, bless’t or else 
impress’d beyond a cent’s worth of t’ main 
events presence where deference t’ truth’s 
benevolence don’t let th’ cat out o’ th’ bag 

Dubious anyroad, meows askew, n’ who’s 
th’ judge when viewers make inroads into 
all fields where sense is a patsy to counts 
of who watched whom n’ when - not what 
or why - ’tis implied in th’ advertisement’s 
answer - th’ money’s where the eye is … 

© 3 July 2014, I. D. Carswell

18 July 2014

They’ll Understand

It doesn’t have portent you can read into 
a saga of disaffection’s malicious design - 
but then the omen was clear enough, the 
flippancy paying small mind to it gives an 
honest dividend, costing a ‘sang-froid’ or 
two more than usual loss of aplomb - yet 
you knew it; so quit a self-righteous ‘why 
me?’ liturgy in appraisal of what wasn’t 

It wasn’t a disaster - as it could well have 
been, and we reached the destination we
were seeking - the loss of dignity is small 
beer compared to back blocks rescue by 
tow truck driver irreverence citing stupid 
not as affectation but secured income 

The disaster was knowing what needed 
fixing but presumptively making plans to 
not implement the fixing right away; that 
is like saying we’re sort of off the pace a 
bit but nothing dramatic, so we won’t hit 
the panic button, or make a fuss - she’ll 

Be right mate. Well today it wasn’t, tho’ 
lucky the fuel feed didn’t fail completely 
we limped where others strode, crept a 
mile to reach this saviour’s embrace in 
unostentatious country garaging - and 
maybe - they’ll understand … 

© 6 June 2014, I. D. Carswell

17 July 2014

St Joe’s Dilemma

The fan-dangle still plays dumb with evidence 
anyone is entitled to appraise, you could say - 
wassup Joe, why th’ long face ’n grimace like 
y’ need to burp? It wasn’t what you ate - case 
most likely is lies coming home to roost - a bit 
like indigestion, thus yelling louder won’t make 
it any less desperate; so you detest the media 
and blame journalists for your discomfort 

Unrelenting argument for an edifice of shonky 
integrity’s sake seems a waste, but then that’s 
what you get for a stale-bun-and-a-cold-cup-of 
the-cheapest-coffee-promises made to voters, 
who now don’t agree with the crises you have 
massaged magically out of a fiscal wilderness 

Blaming a previous Government’s ‘profligate’ 
behaviour isn’t original or true, but within your 
doctrinal bent the same gurus’ve advised you 
how to spin a yarn into a palaver of zealotry - 
we’ve got to suffer so you can prove you’re a 
saviour sent to save us from such prejudice 

© 5 June 2014, I. D. Carswell

16 July 2014

A Daunting Thought

If going to bed before the end of State of Origin I 
meant I didn’t have to witness the Blue’s ecstatic 
celebration, then I’d be excused embarrassment 

Having to cop that strutting and posturing wears 
thin whatever tolerance survives th’ game; you’d 
like to think they’re professional sportsmen - not 

Ridiculous hams hogging the cameras; but I see 
it bleeds both ways, so for the egos survival may 
a few seconds on TV be all they ever need. But 

Copping it sweet is also a team event; our boys 
lent the occasion a bit of philosophical character 
to measure against the NSW ‘humbleness’ 

Of course they’d better redress that in game two 
or we’ll be in a State of mourning - now maybe 
there’s a daunting thought to ponder … 

© 29 May 2014, I. D. Carswell

15 July 2014

Verve That Entertains

And to think it was the easier escape - a quick 
dash across an horizon temporal, or the flight 
thru space-compressed lightyear reckonings - 
emerging in unimaginable places still with the 
same human failings; today the books lie on a 
disheveled bedroom floor, pages unturned, an 
argument where readings failed to account for 
‘truth’ and all else ‘snailed' our reality checks 

We’re not bored with theory, that’s a given, but 
phantasmagorically drawn characters who are 
more Shakespearean than the failed runaway 
reboots of ordinary faux dreams isn’t a ‘verve’ 
that entertains; worse than staring yourself in 
the face you’d say - if you had the nerve 

© 29 May 2014, I. D. Carswell

14 July 2014

Absent Friends

Caught in that uneasy niche between completing 
afternoon chores, cleaning up avoidable messes 
and my canine cobber Podge disdaining to show  
any interest in my dog-tucker effort - gee, thanks
And it’s too early yet for tonight’s Super Rugby. 

So we hang suspended ’til 19:35; meantime Mdm 
claims ‘Miss Marple’ opportunity (on the footy TV; 
it’d better end before H Hour), yet she can’t see a 
problem; after all the best seats, for good reason, 
scrounge better in the Lounge obviously 

And its too early for a glass of wine! Damn. Or is 
it an opportunity to express esprit de corps; back 
in th’ old days we singles had ‘happy hour’ every 
evening as a ritual for absent friends, I don’t see 
any lurking - so they’re definitely not here - yet!

© 30 May 2014, I. D. Carswell

12 July 2014

Midge Season

It is midge season again - an imposition in an 
awareness one could easily bear without; tho’ 
things you can see scare within meaning they 
wear invisibility auguring unwell - its an omen
if you will and until they actually bite you’ll still 
claim folklore created the blight; o’ rest ye well 
until the first itch flares were th’ myth rears its 
irascible head into reality of an ugly red spot 

So scratch-reflex dares you try stop it, a plight 
wearing agonies of ages, you quote an epithet 
you will when you bleed - cursing damn things
you can’t see to believe in, becoming one who 
wagers these fears will bring a calamitous end 
forever to the heterogeneous baring of skin 

© 12 July 2014, I. D. Carswell

10 July 2014

Leader Of The Pack

Would have been amused, maybe entertained 
by the drek arraigned in Tony Abbott’s case; its 
undeniably there - undisguised disgust - some 
quite humorous - but much of it too personal a 
view to be constrained as basic public opinion; 
so where did it come from then - and is it true? 

Asking the Man would duly perpetrate more of 
the same gaffes he’s scoffed irreverently in our 
faces since commencing a political career - an 
amazing maladroit, he’s firm in belief, fearless 
in expressing surly opinions a more diplomatic 
public figure sagely demurs to be drawn on 

But not our Tony; seeking less confrontational 
clashes would be backing down, in his acerbic 
parlance a compromise he’d say, like publicly 
dropping your pants - useful only on a beach, 
a stance where everyone already sees what 
you’re smuggling without using imagination 

Or might we suppose its the sneering, dry & 
snide jests he provides as asides instead of 
answering all questions proposed seeking to 
clarify what & why he is what he is - & does 
inimitably & inevitably what he will, although 
he’s aware nobody falls for that subterfuge 

He’s enigmatic, true, but then observe to his 
Parliamentary rear where this coterie of like 
toffs with similar characteristics huff, scoff & 
sneer in orchestrated harmony; now there’s 
the wherefore of the Man - as leader of the 
wolf pack - and garrulous Head o’ th’ Clan 

© 4 June 2014, I. D. Carswell

09 July 2014

Churrasco Exudations

May have been Don McClean’s ‘Castles in the Air’, or ‘Honkey 
Cat’ by Elton John but atmosphere changed dramatically; - no 
way was I amused by Brazil dying 7 - 1 to Germany, although 
a conclusion gained before kick-off said they’d lose & seemed 
fait accompli - don’t ask me why it felt so damned real, maybe 
its contained in raunchy Brazilian churrasco exudations where 
beyond belief scent and scene madness invades - then one’s 
left an aftermath of over-satiety to restrain while seeking relief 

But back here in Music of the 70s came a form of solace too - 
it is where the real we gained a foothold in consciousness and 
learned to deal with catastrophes - but 7 - 1! Gee, lucky I’d set 
Germany a real chance to win with Brazil having teamwork we 
thought suspect to deal with; that it came to pass dramatically 
doesn’t take away need to recover - and rediscover amity 
© 9 July 2014, I. D. Carswell

After Germany’s unprecedented 7 - 1 semi-final win over 
Brazil in 2014 Soccer World Cup series

07 July 2014

State Of Origin

First of this year’s State of Origin series is 
th’ rage tonight, and just in case you didn’t 
know, we North of the Border folks are the 
‘laity’ excused patronymic ‘histrionics’ as a 
matter of principle, so we’re quite blatantly 
bound to engage in sledging officials and 
players whose Sate of Origin connection 
is unfortunately NSW - no shame in it, its 

History; - yes cousins, we’re talking Rugby 
League, the game closest to true sporting 
divinity containing unforsakable messages 
of brethren’s lore, & it says - be whomever 
you wish off the field, ponce and pander to 
media-sweet images - but when you play 

Mate, its for your State of Origin 

© 28 May 2014, I. D. Carswell

Pse note: at date of posting this year's rubber is already dead - earned by NSW 2 - 0. So if QLD is playing for anything it is a modicum of pride ... 

06 July 2014

New Beginning

It is a difficult one to get to grips with - not 
in a vaguely disordinate sense, more in an 
inclination to avoid its meaning, a pretence 
if you like - it isn’t happening; I suppose its 
easier to see consequence other than real 
events deflated by your druthers, and gee, 
maybe that explains my denial’s extension 
into this mood of homme deshabille 

A nakedness supposed, it imagines all the 
veneers ripped away, best pay no heed to 
obvious constructs proposed by a regime’s 
polishing and cleaning - & who’s still a man 
unclothed of his fantasies; but we’re to sell 
this idea by hook or by crook 

Hopefully Monday’s ‘potential’ buyer’ll look 
at what is meant in the saying, expressing 
a vulnerability is an inept way to sell ideas, 
but to be thus and still meaningful lends a 
chance to begin again, you won’t cease to 
exist, you’re on a new centre-stage 

© 25 May 2014, I. D. Carswell