30 June 2015

Melodramatics


















Pensioner’s concession you ask while reaching for your 
card but she’s already rung the fare - $22.20 she says & 
indelibly you’re on the next leg of your journey home; its 
a Brisbane City Gold Coast express - meaning you’ve to 
change at Eagle Junction; checked that & yes, but that’s 
where comfort ends. Getting there to connect is only the 
beginning, the first train to Nambour left just as you leap
off the Airport line looking for it on platform four

At least the guy who tried to help, I only drive the bloody 
things he said, knew it might be four, or even three - I’m 
no scheduler, sorry, but we sorted it out for a 24 minute 
wait; now the irony is we’ll get there anyway, probably a 
wee bit late, say nearer 11 am, which is quite okay else 
there’d be a longer delay in picking up the ute probably 

As puzzling as it seems we’ve flown in from Newcastle 
where grandchildren were over-indulgent to excess, so 
we can excuse it as rest long overdue beggaring haste 
to get back to where all the melodramatics began, and 
that puts it mildly, but being so introspectively at peace 
again suggests it is worth the forbearance anyway 

© 27 January 2014, I. D. Carswell

29 June 2015

Sanctuary

















It is a sanctuary of sense in a world where 
whoever clamoured louder implied widest 
reason, its as if a tactile reference at least 
for perceiving what might’ve been anomie 
once - but here we rest in an embrace; its 
ease of total familiarity referenced against 
wanting to be included - and fair trade for 
becoming whole again while succeeding 

 Arms encase solidarity against whimsey, 
life is blessed a cuddly countenance with 
real guarantees you matter, there isn’t an 
inordinate need to prove anything - those 
limbs are smiles of greeting; why not give 
one a try and see what it really means 

© 28 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

28 June 2015

This Love

















The flavour of this love engages the intellect 
in artful ways; scents are a savoury incense 
invading tactile domains - sensory opulence 
pervades each sigh - a murmured inference 
graces lubricious meanings in-depth, infinite 
caress wrests the warp and weft of beauty’s 
veracity, breath ablaze, intensity staggering; 
can you survive making love this way 

In a sense each instance is dictionary death 
to the meanings penned by veritable sages 
swaying in the breeze of enigmatic insights; 
& yet in reason’s light there’s a foreseeable 
prophecy brightened into being within each 
instant of rebirth of the zen in your psyche 

© 17 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

27 June 2015

Corona Gaffe


Completely forgot a need to remove my corona 
belt from th’ daks so two airport security screen 
checks failed; my mobile phone was #1 culprit, 
it had me laughing, but the belt buckle proved 
a greater gaffe; security didn’t cop my theory 
of hearing aids as cause, yet 'raised' her voice 
allowing me a partial victory, not that it made 
me any more secure, because without a belt 

My trousers declined to stay at waist level, so 
we’d evened score at least; but irony seemed 
to imply my reasoning collided dramatically in 
an innocent non-sequitur of hearing aids - as 
if a corona blooper provided enough leeway 
for an ever greater hit-and-miss speculation 

© 22 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

26 June 2015

Fortieth


























That ‘fortieth’ birthday came with bonuses one 
might have estranged - perhaps the intimacies 
of growing older with three young daughters is 
a range of abstracting conflicts they’re into - or 
damned if they’ll play your tune; but of the day 
you’re feted and blessed, half-measures there 
paled as shades of crimson grew blooms in a 
fest of affection you’re definitely assured - 

The rest of it flew gentle circuits about hearts 
impressed with nearness & depth of the love 
orbiting your trajectory - yes you may well be 
a 40 yr old but be assured the reflections are 
not blithe but discretionary indices of your net 
worth as their best ever insurance in life … 
© 26 January 2015, I. D. Carswell


For Christian on his 40th birthday

25 June 2015

Espresso Indulgence


Breakfasting on Jatz biscuits and peanut butter 
might seem a trifle indulgent - unless one adds 
well brewed coffee; yes espresso, short black - 
with a dash of ginger syrup - now that’s doting, 
but it’s against a background of the ABC news, 
Andrew Boult backing Murdoch’s ‘sacking’ of a 
Tony Abbott error in awarding Prince Phillip an 
honour of a knighthood on Australia Day 

Or you can jeer at Campbell Newman’s score 
in a ‘trustworthiness’ poll compared with Mdm 
Annastacia Palaszczuk; 3.2 v. 4.4 out of 10 - 
meaning I guess an expectancy our potential 
premier won’t rate high on integrity - because 
we can’t believe ‘em capable of it anyway 

That there is an election this Saturday is well 
aired - with inane trimmings of that wearying, 
speculative ‘innuendo’ burying every hope of 
it ever having clarity of reason & sense; such 
is the way of making compromise bearable - 
when all else fails, just join hands and dance 


© 29 January 2015, I. D. Carswell



No Comment













You’d have to say Lozza (er, that’s Laurie Daley) 
makes little sense in playing loose bat regarding 
Michael Jennings; mate, the games dignity’s not 
at stake - lost that with a Gallon of thuggery - it’s 
what it takes to agree intimidating th’ Police isn’t 
the same as on-field referees; ‘tho the case has 
yet to be heard you’d guess there’s niggle in the 
woodpile here called - State of Origin III 

Shutting your face with a ‘no comment’ isn’t this 
Junee boy’s graceful recognition of an impasse - 
not that he’d recognise one unless it tackled him 
on-field without th’ pill; so for him its a big ask, & 
ill-acceptance is more in tune with the inimitable 
way he played for - & now coaches The Blues 

If Michael Jennings is the only man he needs to 
be confident of winning Game 3 there’s no hope 
of reprieve - but at one each, with the decider in 
Brisbane, maybe it suggests ‘arrogant thuggery’ 
isn’t th’ same indeed as confrontational subtlety; 
not that he’d recognise the breed either way

© Tuesday 23 June 2015, I. D. Carswell


24 June 2015

Election


You could call it ‘sport’ I guess, like watching a 
match where the team game is played to rules 
you think you understand - only they’ll say it is 
entertainment, thus a predilection as such has 
little or no relevance politically; - its an election 
for heavens sake, so why do you want it to be 
a game with its ‘score’ as a justification for an 
‘appropriateness’ rationale that makes sense

Okay, it’s Queensland, and in this poll Gollum 
and 35 LNP aspirants got a*sed; you’d like to 
ask why, hinting at whether they were actually 
‘in’ or ‘out’ would’ve made clarity to the ‘fest’, 
yet all you get is ‘preferences’ from experts in 
the bleachers who only see wood in trees 

None-the-less I guess we’ll still have 3 years 
to regret umpiring in this dismissive match … 
© 31 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

23 June 2015

A Small Revelation


It was a small revelation, a kind of eking-out more 
than a bringing to light, but its effect brightened an 
asthmatically austere tho’ since sobriquet day; it’s 
heat rose like antagonism spawned in audience’s 
distaste of a dastardly rival’s antics; sweat flowing 
free & dripping in an analogy worn instantly thin - 
but the glee came from a moment’s aside when a 
mobile phone ‘hotspot’ actually connected sweet 

Tho’ not ‘technically’ erudite, spirits rose steep in 
a temporary respite - that this is provider’s fodder 
for internet-denied clients doesn’t explain why we 
need make accommodations for their ‘inability’ to 
meet interim needs when moving a plan to a new 
site where the Wholesaler hasn’t activated ADSL 

Two weeks is a long time to be incommunicado - 
its Hell, try it and see - then rationalise excuses 
why it isn’t tech faults but a provider’s efforts to 
buy peace of mind off national edifice Telstra’s 
monopolistic hegemony; hence a mobile phone 
hotspot gets the sly vote every time 

© 18 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

22 June 2015

Full Moon Tonight


So maybe I don’t heed the warnings - those 
odd, contrapuntal assertions we are at best 
a bunch of eccentrics; but who gives a toss 

We’ve managed to merge the more arcane 
no-loss view of ourselves, those in our own 
image penchants we’d like to think of as us 

But here is the end of an era; our moon’s a 
timely reminder of who’s turn it is to tell lies 
and so the game gratuitously gathers air 

It is there in the shadows stretched across 
windows - oscillating gently where harsher 
light swears arcane events no allegiance 

The sun will rise tomorrow it suggests - but 
this is where we’re together in evenness of 
of intent - think again of the cost as a gain 

While you’re in a bright light’s role there is 
sequestered structure to events, you’ll get 
endorsement - and possibly even acclaim

Yet here no-one cares - be whomever you 
see as relevant, there’s only you judging it 
as fair portrayal, we don’t need convincing 

And morning’s fare rests naggingly easier 
than a critic’s audience suggesting you’ve 
failed again to convince the greater mien 

Finding and being whom you really are in 
New Moon’s light mitigates relaxation - a 
respite from being what you’re not - 

And seeming trite’s what makes a recess
of blessing’s momentary tenure a lifetime 
of unpretentious, grandiloquent geste 

© 5 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

21 June 2015

Cartoons


The murder of twelve people in Paris by Muslim 
‘terrorists’ clearly states that extremism like this 
must be condemned by Islam’s devout; - to say 
they’re death sentences carried out upon artists 
lampooning Mohammed in cartoons weaves no 
sane rationale, nor justifies the savagery; brutal 
acts reflect on Islam as no better than the mean 
of its most uncivilised, violent reactionaries 

Were the murderers merely obeying edicts of an 
insane holy man, maybe, tactical gains don’t air 
in religious acts of extreme barbarity; missing a 
vital cue in similar creed-regardless views on all 
religions’ excesses proves bigotry in seeing only 
Islam in that magazine’s comical impartiality 
© 8 January 2014, I. D. Carswell


The Charlie Hebdo massacre

20 June 2015

Like To Say


Like to say things are easier at The Creek - and in 
this air of indolence, yes, we can take 41 degrees 
heat; you slip down to th’ Bungo with a deck chair, 
bathe feet in tinkling water, eucalyptus tree shade 
with Black Bean and Figs idly making their natural 
sun block more effective than hype on a beach of 
painting th’ skin with its latest accolade, all of this 
reading last week’s Woman’s Day magazine 

So its Saturday - we don’t feel obliged to be seen 
as Social Disciples & out of th' tenement dressed 
in somebody’s recreational idea - and the Bungo 
gurgles gently, agrees we’d be welcome anyway, 
along with the deer and roos - and if the footprint 
signs are true, maybe a few people like us 

© 17 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

19 June 2015

Doubt


The desire to be free of doubt comes keenly 
graced; - without allowing it place reason in 
jeopardy one can believe in an ascendancy, 
whether fĂȘted or karma matters not - but for 
me the hegemony of ‘immaculate’ belief fails 
to see that others have reasoned theories to 
arraign blasĂ© states of everyone knows that 
anyway, a better or worse as commonplace 

So I must reason it into being to believe in it; 
I hear what you say but cannot bear witness 
until its part of that doubt-freed destiny there 
in the corner of my eye with real assurances 
it is as much a part of me as my thinking’s a 
cast iron alibi for discounting the dubiety 

© 17 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

18 June 2015

Share The Solitude


The cows come by most days - they wander 
in about noon grazing new grass on beyond 
the eastern gate; this week they received an 
indolent bonus, long garden trimmings cast 
casually over the fence; been gazing at me 
pensively, but her ladyship is at work I say - 
so we share the solitude. Tuesday’s guests 
were two King Parrots who’d found our red 

Ziegler & Brown barbecue far too exciting to  
ignore, perched swinging where they’d be in 
an advantaged position but deplored peach 
diced for their indulgence; a solitary wallaby 
grazed languorously and waved, remaining 
stretched out nibbling the fresh grass 

Even Willie Wagtail querying who’s at home 
played on decency, flitting acrobatically with 
finesse upon a rotary clothesline such that it 
entertained - we’re privileged to see this yet 
it’s just the beginning, isn’t it; I guess we’re 
about to be presaged to engage in it 

© 8 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

17 June 2015

Their Penance


That frustration is easier explained - like scent 
of custom-made doom invading, the girdling of 
pure powerlessness; its Hell on wheels without 
chrome trimmings or an indolent exhaust-note, 
that singular protest-vote we’ve seen as a joke; 
when things ran our way there was no need to 
be different, yet here we’re isolated, fettered in 
unmatched shoes so far into the coral penury 

& why’s it me in ‘crossed hair’ quirks of what’s 
nonsensical probability, and what are the odds 
it is framed by all those insanely ‘random’ acts 
of vengeance perchance revisited because the 
plague of my invulnerability’s dissipated; or am 
I facing the vagaries of doing their penance 
© 15 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

16 June 2015

Materiality


So its somewhere between what you like to think 
of as esoterica and that important exotic bit which 
intervenes when the going gets far too mundane - 
but you’ve never played that scene anyway, its a 
boring character-choice avoided, & too dramatic 
for space outside any theatre, or say too drek to 
be restrained by good manners; so here we are - 
in pedantry’s alleyway, or nowhere in particular 

It’d never been a problem before today - at least 
you can say that for real, but being aware and in 
two minds of what it means is histrionics afoul & 
the dramas concealed; is this a new me for real 
or a just character one escapes into if the clash 
of arcane and faraway congeals materiality 

© 14 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

15 June 2015

Waiting


Waiting for the lady never ends 
there is a recipe of course, age 
of reason bends the folds; lend 
an ear, behold - you see a hole 
in reasoning ‘its worth the wait’ 
in ‘if she’s here’ she’ll be a late 
redaction in th’ fractal chain of 
vaguely never-ending thought 

& then she’s at the door again 
a chiming-ringlets prophecy, a 
consequence sublimely blest - 
an absentee intrigue of baited 
breath to intimate - whomever 
you where waiting for is here 

© 13 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

14 June 2015

Early Elections


Far be it from me to observe that the inutile 
Premier of Queensland has called for early 
elections; isn’t the first time we’ll go to polls 
on 31January, would seem he is a-founder 
in a sea of his own making - in waves he’d 
stirred personally with his dyslectic style of 
unctuous, dissociated invective - but I see 
voter surveys say why he’s outed at last 

Cammo’s really Gollum to cognoscenti, no 
joke in that either, or no pun intended, and 
when votes are counted he’ll be less likely 
a swelling extended at the tip of the LNPs 
nasal extremity claiming an overwhelming 
majority means they’ll do as they please 

Like they’ve done these past 3 years… 

© 13 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

13 June 2015

Being A Part



Cleaning after a recent tenancy seems like replaying 
intimacies of not-quite-strangers - no ways to excuse 
profligate behaviour come easy & burning its rubbish 
guesses occasional excess wasn’t only in the surfeit 
of chardonnay bottles or bourbon-and-coke cans - & 
we imagined the rest, succeeding in reconciling their 
dreams comfortably; it’d be what we’d’ve ‘ad a go at 
in their shoes, maybe dressed as Pan having ball 

An over-melodramatic contention or is it all empathy 
blessed in an easier guise of wayward envy - a form 
in parody of: do as I say not what I say I do, leaving 
the door open to even more bizarre enviousness - it 
isn’t the way we’re meant to be, unless messes like 
these are easier to understand in being part of ‘em 

© 11 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

12 June 2015

Rural TV


There’s something at back of it - this isn’t 
an on-the-level coincidence - nor is it the 
roll of innocent dice; if relocating satellite 
TV in a new location includes ‘intrigue’ of 
finding Midsomer Murders among the six 
only channels registered at resetting then 
you’ve a right to be impressed; if there is 
a better one tho’ it’d be The Golden Girls  

To explain this logically requests more of 
sagacity than a disproportionate belief in
signal-to-distance ratio keys; then we’ve 
to factor in who gets the most benefit, or 
what the Government subsidies amount 
to for a viewer’s gender discernment
© 9 January 2015, I. D. Carswell