here it is
the less
of faces voices
occupiers of space
(as if its empty
I mean really)
anyway
they're here
& you
have to deal
run into
nod
'how are ya?'
for me tho
these days
as distinct from
others
I go for
(preference is)
less
it's just too many
worlds
essentially
incomprehensible
in the heads
comin'
at ya
& I mean
when you boil it
down
its the same sludge
given the spark
a kick start
& for god
knows why
not even
if the truth ...
as they say
there is a great
battle
of violins
(janine jansen)
in my head
bach /
(saturday sonata)
turning to
art 4
a universal
however it comes
thank you
& gone forever /
once touched
so we are?
ghosts
fleeing
ghosts?
however you want
to say
really
language falls apart
if you want to nail
anything
I mean nail
a thought
a word
a deed
no kiddin'
nothing else
for it
we pretend a logic
only to
negotiate
the haplessness
&
of course
each
other
unknowns
rattling away
shooting colours
into the vault
everyone says
is on the move
what I say is
forget
the dogged search
you can't void
the void
& you just wear
your bones
down
& your eyes
start to die
we all need
the jump start
of joy
any way you can
get it
that is the real
task
stay afloat
sweetheart
the boat is always
sinking
walk on water
dance across
the world
there's really
no choice
amen
these days add
nothing
to the deep blue
the stillness
of presence /
we conjure
construct
& the endless
talent
of abstraction /
as if a leap forward
just
a reconfiguration
of stones
& thoughts
new heads
popping up /
the pretence of
the unique
every life
a fallacy
only there is no
truth
therefore
you say
ok
I figure we can't
step out
of
the dialectic
it's really just
different
formulations &
different combos
of matter
& words
you gotta love
the innocence
of
not
knowing
it's a cracker
& never defeated
no matter what
pressure is
layered
on
we come through
despite
I'd like to start
from scratch
alas
there is no
such
place or point
or wherever
you launch
yourself
from
each day
hour minute
time is a needle
that just keeps
going
in
& place
per se
irrelevant
it is really just
a calculation
one tree
in the middle of
nowhere /
do the math
colours change
shapes change
& still I
persist
here I am
yes
you just can't avoid
the indeterminacy
tho I stab
my cane
into the dust
it is to
catch a world
a mote in god's eyes
or the strange
thought
disappearing
in panic
around the corner
in a maze of
allays
as good a way
(I say)
as any
meta construct
i.e. the rule
of benedict
or a mafiosi
family dinner
(not to mention
kant's
imperative
& any other
short sharp
pretension
to order
against the
beautiful
chaos
of hands eyes
lips & thighs)
you are born
into
this trap
and while you may
unravel some
chains
the only option is
another /
or complete
disregard
and here you must be
a magician
turning the tricks
as you wander
a metaphysical
vagabond
to the tune
of robert
louis
stevenson /
a hundred miles
or more
whatever the case
however you fashion
or
whatever fashion
you fall into
the world is wide
and every definition
every definition
science
religion
perception
fails
& in the silent
constant
crashing
is released
the laughter
of the gods
& children
the clouds are on
fire
the heart
is beating
with other humans
you just have to
hope
or rule of thumb
pretend
they understand
your words
your eyes
your gait
& the question
(perhaps it should
be
preeminent)
do you know
yourself
& your
shot in the dark
so
who's to bless
who's to blame?
whatever happens
on the village green
by the abandoned
rail road station
it's there
in the silence of
lost footsteps
from other worlds
of old men
in stetson hats
& the women
who made homes
with hands &
dreams /
out of nothing given
& everything
found
I am grateful
for these days of
trees & light
grateful to
who
or what
you say
to cut the
history
of the world
short
to the end of time
(or shall we say)
the argument
stopped
dead
the trees &
light /
you can only give
to what is given
& yes
the endless
possibilities
of description
interpreting
to be frank
is pointless /
yo
& it's only
lunatics like me
that got trapped
in the vortex
for a time
for a song
for a breast
for a thigh
her pale blue
eyes
we live
wasteland dreamers /
& I say
our souls are in the
dirt
& burning trees
against the battle
of contingency
nothing can be said
hence
refuge in art
& other
necessary
delusions of the
spirit
& flesh
& where to find
the strength?
(it comes & goes)
the hoped for
presence
the unexpected
guest
this comes across as
data
unrelenting /
calculation /
& there is no
(logical)
sum
we make equations
in desperation
& they are all
false
constructions
nevertheless
she says with a
smile
standing outside
the old farm house
her cotton dress
talking to the wind
the endless fields
the sky blue forever
& of this man
time the soundless
shudder
of wings
shadows trapped /
in the conception
of self
& to a point
of no
extension
if viewed
as separate to
this body
of course
not /
a centre of
consciousness
the inside
of flesh & blood
conatus
if you like
the matter
should be left
at that
I am guilty of
every foolishness
heroic acts
in the name of
the heart
today
I suspend judgment
& choose
the way of
unknowing
to be free of
the burden of
belief
and the trap of
true & false
my body is riddled
with these
pretensions
they are the marks
of battles
won & lost
the history
of the dreaming
I come to you
as a warrior
from the battlefield
of discarded
weaponry
/ only the good
get a berth
the horror of years
has come to this
blessing
the winds of
dreaming
hard losses
& ecstasies
a spirit breathes
in eternity
as eyes & hands
enthral
in the delight
of particularity
the immersion
in sense
there is no ending
here /
only an exhaustion
of heart /
& the body
its marks though
time
a history of the
world
touched
there is no stasis
beliefs /
light points
in a kaleidoscope of
colours
sounds
scents
textures
tastes
the I
never appears /
a construct
invoked /
to separate
to exclude
to invite
(and)
despite our most
abstract
adventures
excursions into
possible worlds
the relativity
of every system of
thought
or
action
/
even
the fall
into
nothing
ness
we are left on
solid
ground /
shaking
facing
what we have made /
or what
we have
disassembled
(another way of
making)
& the questions
what & why
(and time
no more than
different
perspectives
on when &
if)
it is conscious ness
that is given
the world
is brought
to heel /
it is the platform
of
perception
& perception
determines
what is perceived
so /
we fly from the base
& take up
different
perspectives
on where we have
come
from
& we are
(this is the
churning
of possibilities
& the marks of
ageing
only the tracks
laid down
& abandoned)
& the going
forward
into the light
is ageless /
timeless
ever young
on any death bed /
or
the next thought
on what to do
the hills are on
fire
the bar room
chanteuse
laments
empty rooms
the regime of
the wandering spirit
& bodies
through time /
trapped in physics
(we live /
suspended) /
this is
the song of songs
the hills are on
fire
you come back
to
this
always
the touch unbroken
of random hearts
beating
words & dreams
against
the place of trees
enclosing
the purity
of no human mark
we have only
the salvation
of dirt
wind
& leaves
the constancy
of movement
consciousness
has no rest
inside or
out /
just variations
of frequency
so we
manufacture
foundation
for stillness
as if there is
a place
& time
.
& truths
we can seal
in certainty
.
everything
was true
& every truth
lost
.
(3 girls
in the union
building
1975
I chose
1)
.
I have only
possibility
in the sunshine
of the day
.
(beware
the eyes
the heart
devours)
.
we are all lost
in the dreaming
the horror
or
delight
a red square
a red heart
beauty runs among
the trees
flowing in
scarves
of sunshine
the green
is deep
& deeper
there is no reason
to be
or not /
the world is
the next action
anywhere
you look out &
hold
a trick of physics
space & time
otherwise
no separate
ness /
the order defeats
account
& knowledge is
this loss
written up
the young lovers
laughing
in the park /
autumn leaves
falling
play with
the dying
light
this day
a perfection
worthy of
anselm
(I am faraway)
a country rd
in 72
the sunshine
a melody of
gentle ghosts
the essence
& its folding
into itself
we travel down
roads
never before
created /
& just as soon
lost
lines
disappearing
into
nothing
space /
without dimension
& time
dissolving
her eyes /
there is no end
& I am
beyond
description
reaching for
a word
in a symphony
of silence
the fields of grass
sway
there is reason in
the heart
that was born before
dreaming
I ride in terror / the
lost crusader /
who can imagine the
damage?
a naked girl stands
still for the world /
this is art &
meaning & essence
in autumn days I
wonder / wander
among the fallen
words
look
his poetry
like himself
full of
substance
but for mine
overweight /
I like skinny poems
& skinny girls
logic
it's as skinny
as you can
get
great symphonies
consume
there is nowhere
to run
everyone needs
that tear in the sky
his grandma
used to sit
him
on her knee
banjo
in hand
& yodel
really
I can't imagine
why
nevertheless
that's the story
sweetheart
& do we have
anything
else /
to hammer into
dirt?
a fixture hey
in the moving feast
of
eyes /
vanities
& lies
well really
a question of
metaphysical place
I mean where are you
shooting from
on what floor
& in what
direction?
there are very
different
realities
& levels
thereof /
intersections
catastrophic
at the core
two sets
looking at each
other
what's been gained
any loss?
at least
we like to think so
zeno
& all that jazz
I mean
turtles
all the way
down
yeah so
my old friend is
closing down
& yes there is a
reasoning
really
when is there not?
this game of making
facts / shaping
colouring
placing
as the art of
presentation
(nothing more)
taking from
the chaos
of heart
of mind
the eternal
agitation
and giving it
fashion
giving it form
we are all gods
of the earth &
sky
& this capacity
to design
in our bones /
really the only tool
we have
who is to say
where
anyone is coming
from
is heading to?
no essence
in flesh
& mind
the inside
of space
I wander among
the bodies
& creations
of matter /
pretences
meant to stand
& beyond all
this
a dreaming
of signs
the only reference /
what we give
the necessity
of life
we wait in the long
grass
for any sign
& who is to say
what
the yes
has a history
of infinite galaxies
with no start
(how small can it
go?)
& yet
a snap
out of nothing
so
the texture of hair
the viscosity of
limbs
against
an impression of
hard things
& mind
in parentis loco /
the world
as a deviant urchin
I am bound by
nature
& I cannot set
the limit
dark red shawls
scattered
lost & free
on the trek to
the precipice
& boneyard
of angry gods
there is a logic to
this man
and the reason?
a pretty idea
as sharp
& as bankrupt
as its opposite /
there is nothing
to be said
but everything
that is said
& what could
that
amount to?
enough
if the sun shines
in your day
too much
in the clouds
we live forever
in passion /
only reincarnations
re-imaginings
bodies / souls
without purpose
only fire
wind rain earth
the elements
the great symphony
of chaos
desire
life / death
the heart
is never left
never
forsaken
my love
my heart is high
/
today
the world is winter
greys /
greens
& melbourne town
could be
of any year /
an unexpected
quietness
& I am shuffling
around
with dear old bob
he is a master
bookbinder
& we talk of the
business
closing
it is exhausting him
the time has come
sad yes
& almost a tear
from brave eyes
I say
your work is
beautiful
& timeless
& that you
cannot buy
he says
with a wry smile
& you can't sell
it
either
as we wander
up
little bourke
to grand hatters
& more beauty
.
jasmine
a sea of bright
stars
in the fluidity
of spirit
unfixed &
evolving to no law
in the dream
scape
of a young
woman's
eyes
.
we are dream shadows
/
awake
in a physic of earth
& sky /
& objects (their
qualities)
touchstones
of deception
the craving for
realisation
haste
against
an order of
consciousness
too deep
to see
or
touch
could be anyone
hey?
iron & steel
aspirations
in this world of
hearts / minds
cuttin' through
to what?
so blessedness
is just what is
& as for not
don't waste your
time
putting on the glam
sweetheart
it'll leave you
bereft
oh no
(& this poem
has a lean /
no matter how
you size it up
on a monday
getting
cold)
.
it is the quiet
knowledge
that is the
definition of
each & every
living thing
.
the
infinite
variation
of
one
design
.
caitlan
yes
physics is the
determination
of bodies
still / in motion
space / time
nevertheless
within
this fixture
the spirit /
(it's fluidity)
exploring
the worlds
of its own
creation
.
lonesome jack
lonesome
& the same river
twice
boys
on tour endless
the search for
still / life
.
I have no reason
but the reason I
give
at any moment
nothing but dust
alive /
no order / design
flying blind
yes we manufacture
structures
foundations
logics
to
mind & heart
how is anyone to get
by
without?
might I suggest
embrace
embrace it all
the pleasures
the pain
gain & loss
history & hope
just embrace it all
& everyone
that comes to
your door
do not exclude
deny
repress
revile
nb
this is no solution
just a way of seeing
a way of being /
a place for dust
to fall
lives of distraction
one & all?
& from death /
suffering /
nothingness?
(in its myriad of
forms)
the energy of
distraction
the world made /
remade
continuous creation
the real constant
C
every day / every
action
every moment
creation of nothing
& for no reason
=
every reason
(back to black
as soon as you do
the arithmetic)
old pals
of the dreaming
the days / the years
the moments
we plied each other
with
verities /
deceptions
schemes
& plans
madness
hope & loss
(is it all the sum
of joyous eyes?)
& people
disappeared
into other
dimensions
other realities /
& no one
can be sure
where they have
ended up
what they have
become
or who they are
still the dance
goes on
we live in abeyance
the touchstone
a constant
remaking
& never grasped
never held
(the quiet joy
sightings
of old friends
in worlds
gone)
nothing is
lost
& we are saved
from implosion
from dissolution
from insanity
the arrow of
time
.
"people
going astray"
says bob
"must be
the weather
this cold day"
.
for amanda
(who totally
gets it)
this battle of
perceptions
ideas / conceptions
& a given view /
a common view
nothing more
than
submission to /
the risk is
you end up
mean
& solitary
holding true /
against the mob
or you can
(this is possible)
disregard
with equanimity
&
go
your
own
sweet
way
with a touch of
magnanimity
a touch of class
take a wide view
with
a dispassionate
& gentle
regard /
(human folly
at every turn)
.
3 lauren way
.
hey substance
comes to what
she moves on tiled
flooring
around the kitchen
the new house
how does it stand
up?
I mean really
living things
what can you say?
we fall back on
the poverty of
science
cosmological clowns
(you take what you
can get)
and spirit seers
a little more
imagination
perhaps
or only just /
consciousness kills
the show
you can't see it
despite your
backyard
experiments
or other world
fantasies
(God & his crew
all tooled up
driving down
rathdowne st
looking for a blue)
I have to say
the whole
rigmarole
is what it is /
which tells you
precisely
zilch
this is the go
just the
interminable /
now some despair
& I say why not?
the smart ones
on the other hand
live within
burrow down
standing at the
window
looking out
what you see
is all there is
nothing to question
nothing to doubt
whether you think
therefore
or not
p.s.
& don't kid
yourself
there is no looking
back
it's gone /
best to live
without
the indulgence
of a past tense /
keep it sharp
keep it clean /
a new day
the rising sun
we lose touch
our world
it seems has a di
minishing need
4 hands
& what
hands reach for ...
a cerebral re
configur
ing
underway
we move into
& are becoming
logical systems
(the slow dying of
sense)
head heart flesh
strange
intruders
/ wood & stone
hard ground /
beyond
the grey blue
physics cannot
tame
and we leave earth
into the
impossibility
of dreaming
different spaces
non
euclidean
shapes
the constant change
of no principle
yes
the indeterminacy
of the cat
we must be
lost in art
or go mad
on lonely streets
& doorways
huddled
in rags
no salvation /
but you must keep
moving
we are too far out
now
to return to
(wherever it was)
.
my beloved
my heart
is the world
a strange
journey
out of nothing
& to where else?
you are
my brace /
the other
that holds
against
dissolution
against
madness
I am
in your arms
made true
without you
I am lost
my beloved
jude
.
skinny woman on
tractor
here's
the jawbreaker
space / time
function of
percepts /
yeah so that's how
people &
things
disappear / re-appear
/
in & out of
space / time cul de
sacs
everyone /
everything
is somewhere
even the dead
boyo
the bishop
had a point
(berkeley
that is
bishop of cloyne)
but he couldn't
stand his ground
hold his nerve
he quibbed out
dropped the bundle
& fell in line
God perceives
everything
all the time
would have been
much more
interesting
if he had left God
out of the picture /
& we had what
we've got
random
indeterminate
sightings
I mean seriously
you think about it
do you really
need
a backstop
a ground to the
ground?
it’s illusory
comforting yes
nevertheless
weak as piss
a bit more rigour
needed
cutting out the
props
& the energy
flows
in all directions
only the senses
make still
for the moment
of their
grasp
words
to ashes
poetry &
philosophy
to hills /
& back to dust
back to
the dreaming
under
a super blood
wolf moon
(c) greg t. charlton. 2019. 2025.
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