29 August 2015


Well, for a week we at least had something that 
seemed okay - an internet connection via NBN, 
aka - the Government sponsored, geographical 
orphan and under-privileged remote subscriber 
satellite internet scheme, bless ‘em; as it turns 
out we weren’t properly ingenuous - being ‘too 
sophisticated’ by our wi-fi/pc networking, which 
allowed more than one at a time users pc's to 

Be in direct web connection! Gosh - how could 
we be so lewdly blatant - the wee ants must’ve  
‘spied’ outrageously to conclude this - and yes, 
by letter of the decades outdated logic derived 
from redundant technical lore it is just the one 
connect; despite innocence, we’re deprived of 

Access anyway until they agree there isn’t any 
viral culpability in having wi-fi/pc networking, it 
is how things are made these days, but we will 
have to wait at least another two weeks, that’s 
their minimum response time, bless ‘em, even 
when they’re distressingly so far out of date … 

© 7 May 2015, I. D. Carswell

28 August 2015

Home Free

Slowly learning - already too fixated to see what 
may be set in place; wasn’t always this way and 
with a vengeance - or is unremarkable the noun 
we seek, age’s penchant crafting things sleek & 
with nuances too oblique for a first take; are the 
sounds half-heard, or is the word more properly 
half-unheard such that innuendos miss a beat - 
arriving out of pace upon these mistimed feet 

Well, okay - if anything remains of my acuity for 
seeing scams hidden in an ardency of detail I’m 
still your man; so I think it like running in a race, 
one against that competitor visibly holding all th’ 
aces described as currency; if he loses and still 
wins we’ve found an answer - tho’ it means 

We’re probably in too deep to be home free 

© 21 July 2015, I. D. Carswell

27 August 2015

Unilateral Sanctity

We can give the Iranians what they want in an 
attempt to reduce strain on a potential nuclear 
event the World shudders grievously at - & yet 
we’ve seen the effects all too clear; detente or 
what smacks of tainted convenience comes in 
the face of saintly Islamic extremism guised in 
deeds of Jihadi mass-murderers; okay, they’re 
not exactly similar - but imagine if they were 

In face of deranged sanctimony condoned by 
the Islamic faith, we may’ve forestalled a dire 
nuclear impasse; one where our deeds place 
weapons in hands of insane religious leaders 
who claim ‘territorial sovereignty’ in the name 
of an ideological aberration Islam terms ISIS 

So much for free choice or even a freedom to 
choose whether to worship; these beasts see 
infidels in any ‘disagreeing’ to their egregious 
embrace, claiming they are saviours of a new 
humanity, & no room for others’ saintly views 
but sanctity of their unilateral interpretation 

© 16 July 2015, I. D. Carswell

Surviving Rhetoric

So if there’s an easier way, show me; you don’t 
need pontificate on how inept I might be, surely 
that’s a given when the show runs to your beat; 

but it’s a helluva crazy rhythm some would say, 
too far-out to defeat the wherewithal blues you 
claim we unsophisticates suffer as epilepsies 

come to think of it, better to be unaware and all-
but unconscious than seated too comfortably; it 
isn’t a chair locked into the mainstream tempo 

and that’s evident, we’re assured, by sanity we 
recently reviewed; - as a general rule you don’t 
need be nutty, or wholly insane, to appreciate 

the finer points of whose view rainbow-colours 
reality created by such ebullience; we’d be just 
as appreciative were we, too, prudently sane 

but we’re not or we wouldn’t be here, so preach 
your sermon on our inadequacies today & we’ll 
appreciatively applaud by going our own way 

© 15 July 2015, I. D. Carswell

The Other Side

While it feels like a vast distance we’re only 25 minutes 
away - and yes, it is a bit stranger on the other side; for 
starters the word-play ‘subtlety’ takes no prisoners over 
there, or am I imagining 20 years of humourless lingua 
Peachester where the adroitness of terms merged into 
grey anonymity; crikey, here repartee’s a smorgasbord 
all the time - but we’re south of the Glasshouse divide, 
hidden amongst eldritch hills with names like Mt Mee 

It seems pioneer is deeper in this demesne, more than 
the northern-slopes sophisticates, so if rustic takes the 
mickey out of being polite here a ‘richness’ of dialogue 
bakes th’ cake a little bit differently; suffice to say we’d 
scoff at any who took the district ‘Delaney’s Creek’ too 
seriously - especially if you live near Bungo brook 

© 28 February 2015, I. D. Carswell

26 August 2015

So We’re Naive

We’re back on the Greenhouse bandwagon again - 
argument this time being whether there’s economy 
in solar energy; moot point I suppose - bit like their 
original argument of greenhouse effects as causal 
to temperature change; for sure debate creates as 
much heat in feelings, and when arraigned there’s 
enough evidence supporting that its proportionally 
as representative as the profits to be made 

Hang on a mo we say, aren’t we really measuring 
the benefits to mankind - accusations we’re naive 
are deafening; of course there’s an economy they 
hasten to say, through solar energy alone we’ll be 
able to solve all long-term manufacturing industry 
problems through the fabrication of solar panels 

We query, by using solar energy, they cry bugger 
offwhy are you so stupid. The long run’s we’ll all 
benefit, just wait & see; meantime its appropriate 
to keep the debate going because it focusses the 
commercial realities onto fringe benefits we earn 
a living from - supposed glasshouse effect or not 

© 16 July 2015, I. D. Carswell

The Beginning

So you’re officially a Schoolie today - it means 
there’ll be a few more excuses for ‘in-between' 
ideas about what makes a ‘square’ World and 
how Parents describe such things; yet there’s 
a flip side too, what it is not schemes the free-
ways to independence in leading thought; tho’ 
we don’t doubt your autonomy, you’ve already 
navigated that route and discovered yourself 

With your special gifts you will see all of those 
highways to whatever Heaven appeals most - 
and in whichever countenance - while smiling 
sweetly; the easiest decision pertains to your 
choice-freedom - you’re on the way Charlotte 
Lily - this big 6 today is but the beginning 
© 10 July 2015, I. D. Carswell

For Charlotte Lily Carswell on her sixth 
birthday, 23 July 2015

25 August 2015

Who’s Two (For Clementine)?

So now who’s two (but nearly four), 
would that be you, Miss Clementine? 
There’ll be no lazy speculation, just 
the refined sophistication you devise - 
with, for sure, beguiling eyes  

Gentleness in kind with sweet and calm 
and worldly views creates an air which 
illustrates a nascent charm; two years 
displayed or four or even more disarms 
defence against prodigious innocence 

Glory ‘tis to see you grow this way! An
irony contends our view is but a gaucherie 
of whom and what we think we are; 
knowing you as you explains we see 
just who we’d really like to be 
© 25 July 2011, I. D. Carswell

24 August 2015


You wouldn’t rate The Creek an unsafe place to 
play unless your dogginess invades; its then an 
angel fears to tread domain with bandicoots too 
braw to leave to be; so Massey has to chase or 
wear the ridicule implied in Podge’s sneer - & if 
one runs away you hunt it to its lair he says, an 
honour for the only prey we found today - while 
she guffaws at we; why you weren’t even there 

Wasn’t far away he said - y’ went another track, 
like a bandicoot I keep Th’ Creek in view, that’s 
methodology th’ same as mine for you, - so we 
were bound to meet sometime beside th’ deep, 
and there the game became a chase at frantic 
pace from creek across the road to far away 

Last I hear is barking treed half-a-mile off to th’ 
east - sounds like Podge I would agree; but no 
response to whistles bring relief, so I depart th’ 
scene - prepared for certain grief if neither are 
asleep in bed by 6 pm, M’Lady’s back by then 
and explanations need to have a happy end 

I found th’ miscreants by driving Ute on tracks 
you’d misconstrue as paths for hokum views - 
they had come back to where their ‘coot had 
recently vacated keen to start the race again - 
that is until th’ Ute hove into sight; a ride they 
knew - delight expressed in weary eyes 

© 30 July 2015, I. D. Carswell

23 August 2015


Anticipation’s easier to live with than familial 
obligation - so when is it going to happen, or 
has it; already th’ next bottle of wine may be 
a clinical observation you’re past tense, and 
if it is true you’ve solved a mystery that only 
you could have; where in the prolepsis of its 
inescapable reality can you hide awaiting a 
vision you’d’ve irrefutably avoided anyway 

And it’s where we find you, avoiding familial 
obligations you knew were Sunday clothes - 
redefining it as more a convenience of rules 
for engagement; in a sense its so, but cross 
any threshold and you know who’s dressed 
appropriately & exactly how to behave … 

© 4 April 2015, I. D. Carswell


The hair is growing - I can feel its stubble softening 
gradually like an animate hello; doesn’t mean it has 
forgiven me shearing it off first place - although that 
could only be a barbershop floor memory, & while it 
still makes a case for consultation; I’m supposed to 
see it as a crowning glory ‘justification’ because it’s  
where its supposed to be, & I say that is simply too 
gauche - but its reasoning holds a robust sway 

How do you know that baldness runs in my family I 
query gently - both brothers thinning away to shiny 
pates isn’t inevitability; but I’d guess the pictures of 
Dad say no contest - and if that’s where it all came 
from Grandma’s locks thinning in her twilight years 
ends all of the redolent speculation. So maybe my 

Locks-shearing’s merely a quaint form of solidarity 

© 2 August 2015, I. D. Carswell

22 August 2015

Blessing Disguised

Juggling glasses makes a slight inroad into the 
impasse - & like a “Band On The Rum” version 
of a Beatles favourite you’d come to agree last 
impressions taste better anyway; it’s Sunday & 
for better or worse, opportunity for the yahoos’ 
dirt-bike chorus to ring louder ’n Church Bells - 
somewhere I’d agreed to not notice - between 
that and th’ ute’s battery failure - what the hell 

Vaguely, you’d’ve seen it coming I guess - had 
you been wearing th’ right specs, but I’ll say its 
a blessing disguised - when we play for so little 
stakes in a game of privation deprived ‘there’s 
always th’ phone’ to quell monotony - isn’t it an 
invitation to be things in another atmosphere 

© 17 May 2015, I. D. Carswell


So pardon the parochial out-of-wedlock excuse 
but th’ Pommie bastards 'ave cooked ‘a goose’ 
in the Third Test;  who’d’ve seen the ‘toss’ as a 
skill set ineptitude when panning the Okkers in 
the 1st & then getting their ashes resoundingly 
damped in #2, you’d kind of ‘expected’ that it’d 
be a decent contest; well - so far, commentary 
isn’t insistent on drama with any good taste 

But then I’d need t’ listen to all these atrocious 
Pongo accents longer than I have an excuse &
given I do understand that the drivel alluded to 
is the cricket game with too little ‘relief' from an 
easy fall of Pommie wickets, then as an Ozzie, 
maybe the beer will nearly make it real again 

© 30 July 2015, I. D. Carswell


Another of those days where you’re looking forward 
to it ending - it isn’t a matter of how far you’ve come 
or pretending getting there was a feat, it's more fear 
eroding the odds for tomorrow’s victories. And there 
aren’t any free; you know consumed energy's price, 
whether there'll be a discount or not isn’t in th’ cake 
you’ve sliced on your plate, that you know well, like 
a portentous augury in view of things yet to come 

So you close the page - at least that will still be real 
tomorrow; finding it may be another thing - that trial 
yet to come but you’ve saved invested energy from 
fate’s fickle, and as a faithful Op Sys believer know 
at least they do what they’re told; so maybe you’ve 
given yourself the chance to resurrect again … 

© 4 August 2015, I. D. Carswell

21 August 2015


Well, we nearly had an internet connection today; now 
out here that’s a famous play on words, and if there is 
irony also - displaying meanings of what Bureaucracy 
still sees as an opportunity; thus no, what you expect 
isn’t the reality we view because you nearly had more 
of the cake we baked out in the rain & a Public view’s 
a given when you’re getting something for free; that it 
wasn’t what we signed up for didn’t seem pertinent 

So we could see where we’d connect but a nonsense 
when we weren’t allowed to do so unless in a Library 
or public place - & privacy you have to ‘pay’ for we’re 
informed dispassionately; well hey, read my lips, this 
place’s about as public as you could get mate - we’d 
paid double th’ price already just getting a phone on 

That we can’t see how its an opportunity when we’re 
depressed below the National ‘accessibility' average 
and still can’t get a look in doesn’t make bureaucratic 
waves; but its not the way our Provider sees satellite 
broadband coverage, so in a week they’ll smooth red 
tape and we’ll be sweetly internet massaged again 

© 15 April 2015, I. D. Carswell

20 August 2015


Stella is five today, she’ll make the most of a case 
claiming she’s really 18 and therefore perceived to 
be free of all parental restriction; it won’t be radical 
or different from where she’s always been at - free 
of reserve, if only in that it’s her first prize - & she’ll 
be glad with little ado to share on her own terms, if 
we make way for an occasional peccadillo; there’s 
enough established sense thus to not demur 

But we’re looking at a prodigy - and the beginning 
of an era where what seems to matter fails to ‘gel’ 
because there’s insufficient latitude - yet she also
carries Ingrid as name to witness that beautiful or 
beloved she’ll be someone to contend with, mark 
her words on that, & hearken to what she says … 

© 16 August 2015, I. D. Carswell

On the occasions of Granddaughter Stella Ingrid's 
fifth birthday

Holy Saturday

Holy Saturday - the Easter day we somewhat tend to 
take for granted; just hoovered the floor, a task made 
easier when th’ dogs are confined outdoors on a dull, 
likely to drizzle but quaintly misty morning - the sun’s 
made an honorary appearance brightening dew drop 
decorations in the trees suggesting a chance we get 
a load of washing out now - maybe it’ll dry - maybe - 
but more likely a hasty retrieval and relocation; but

Them’s the breaks on this Holy Saturday, one where 
we plan a quiet assault on accumulated rubbish with 
a mid-morning dump-trip highlighting this new mode 
of up-country living; we’re free to recycle whatever it 
takes to make proper choices resound gratefully but 
empty wine and beer bottles forsake it anyway … 

© 4 April 2015, I. D. Carswell

19 August 2015


Hey, I don’t want to sound too intrigued but I 
see your ‘undies’ bound intimately with mine 
when I hang out the washing, I’ve really had 
to un-entwine ‘em to do the job properly, its a 
reflective exercise I assure you - although its 
symbolically embodied deeper meaning may 
have distracted me a mite; seems it invites a 
sense of surreal intimacy which enthrals me 

Was wondering whether only I’m aware of it 
or if the care referenced by such a complete 
togetherness is everywhere tho not as huge 
as this confession, or my omnipresent need; 
perhaps there’s more to it as an idea we’re 
bonded down there as well as up here 

© 13 February 2015, I. D. Carswell

Air Con

Well, it was one of those days - between th’ isolation 
’n th’ rancid heat you couldn’t win so we played easy 
peasy - Podge ’n I agreed a walk up th’ hill came as
close to being th‘ boys we reckon we’re supposed to 
be as sippin’ The Glenlivet ’n reminiscin’; he’s a wily 
dog, doesn’t drink, but don’t let it colour his thinking, 
so we do this thing at the hottest time of day - crazy, 
and when we get back okay he naturally disappears 

Sure it explains where we’re at in his estimation; I’m 
an aberration he makes space for because a mate’s 
worth the effort but when I say what’s the G. O. he’s 
unavailable, needing some R & R is all he’ll suggest, 
let me sleep in this sandpit I’ve made out of th’ hose 
you relocated - its th’ natural ‘air con’ I need 

© 19 March 2015, I. D. Carswell