AutoPirate's Posts - Sydney Poetry2024-03-29T15:30:17ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPiratehttp://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2797740076?profile=RESIZE_48X48&width=48&height=48&crop=1%3A1http://www.sydneypoetry.com/profiles/blog/feed?user=04j83k0spjk5k&xn_auth=noErotic Stream #7tag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2014-01-11:5231298:BlogPost:519562014-01-11T09:35:27.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p><span><a href="http://http://autopirate.blogspot.com/2013/12/theres-dream-some-vapor-of-long-lived.html" target="_blank">"...your muscles are an equal wisdom, that's how I will feel you tonight And yet we enclose this inside a box for fear the earth will walk away from us in disgust at our transformations..."…</a><br></br><br></br><br></br><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2806581376?profile=original" target="_self"><img class="align-center" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2806581376?profile=RESIZE_480x480" width="400"></img></a></span></p>
<p><span><a href="http://http://autopirate.blogspot.com/2013/12/theres-dream-some-vapor-of-long-lived.html" target="_blank">"...your muscles are an equal wisdom, that's how I will feel you tonight And yet we enclose this inside a box for fear the earth will walk away from us in disgust at our transformations..."</a><br/><br/><br/><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2806581376?profile=original" target="_self"><img width="400" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2806581376?profile=RESIZE_480x480" width="400" class="align-center"/></a><br/></span></p>Cloaking Dividetag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2013-10-28:5231298:BlogPost:511812013-10-28T18:00:00.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p><span>The cloaked elan of a swerve, it took moon curve, foundational blue in blue, a swarm of swell, cantankerings of elation, not a personality to be seen on a wide tabularity. All that is vertigo is not cathedryllic, this numen is too vexed for spirit.</span><br></br> <br></br> <span>It will not be so for demons' voice hover low. This turn full of words lasts as long as the dance.</span><br></br> <br></br> <span>The pallour of your ethics needs the cloak. The stellar you've become requires the cloak. For…</span></p>
<p><span>The cloaked elan of a swerve, it took moon curve, foundational blue in blue, a swarm of swell, cantankerings of elation, not a personality to be seen on a wide tabularity. All that is vertigo is not cathedryllic, this numen is too vexed for spirit.</span><br/> <br/> <span>It will not be so for demons' voice hover low. This turn full of words lasts as long as the dance.</span><br/> <br/> <span>The pallour of your ethics needs the cloak. The stellar you've become requires the cloak. For the warmth and felt glee. For the molten pace and leadfoot centre. And the dust that arises. For the lava prone Earth to walk on my soles. For the lines required, the shot off nodes that bud, and embarrassed abstraction.</span><br/> <br/> <span>I am already naked no matter how I'm clothed or not. My palm lines foretell love, luck and itch. My sweat discomforts everything. You call it my sheen. Our hair is already wet from it. We cloak each other in case the sun is sensitive to us.</span><br/> <br/> <span>I am the colour blue - the subverbal hot quiver happy with gangster similarity. The song I made, though too silly to sing publicly, I obsess to its reel on my low rough laughing lonesome.</span><br/> <br/> <span>The eye at the end of the universe modestwise blinked at the eye at the other end, and the other other end winked and blinked, twinkled around here. I could only see a vision of happiness all knotted up, knots that blow away like foaminess.</span><br/> <br/> <br/> <a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2806581497?profile=original" target="_self"><img src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2806581497?profile=original" width="300" class="align-full"/></a></p>Hybrid Shakespeare-Hip Hoptag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-11-23:5231298:BlogPost:449982012-11-23T15:56:33.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p>Larry L, Erika Badiou, Too Loose for you<br></br>and Matahari hop to Cheshire infantry<br></br>mon enfance<br></br>Brel strict symphonie<br></br><br></br>in three<br></br><br></br>waltz the poor o<br></br>mop<br></br>the poor o mope<br></br>sadness and trickiness<br></br>is your angry man scope<br></br><br></br>the happy? well man, that's double crappy<br></br>no gold sold or blood diamonds to Nairobi<br></br>fluvial unities<br></br><br></br>pulsing with xy dynamite<br></br>parabola surface dig to<br></br>open cut<br></br>the kinky sufi master at a rave<br></br><br></br>old man…</p>
<p>Larry L, Erika Badiou, Too Loose for you<br/>and Matahari hop to Cheshire infantry<br/>mon enfance<br/>Brel strict symphonie<br/><br/>in three<br/><br/>waltz the poor o<br/>mop<br/>the poor o mope<br/>sadness and trickiness<br/>is your angry man scope<br/><br/>the happy? well man, that's double crappy<br/>no gold sold or blood diamonds to Nairobi<br/>fluvial unities<br/><br/>pulsing with xy dynamite<br/>parabola surface dig to<br/>open cut<br/>the kinky sufi master at a rave<br/><br/>old man outside the back of the club<br/>at least he can't see other's love-a-dub-rub<br/><br/>like counting a grand<br/>not too shy<br/>in Blacktown<br/>and you're just a four foot guy<br/><br/>get fucked showin<br/>the strut the pose<br/>you think you at an art gallery<br/>with the mozie moze mose?<br/><br/>The power you be representin'<br/>is not a flower in the death sentence<br/><br/>so I glare like Charles Baudelaire<br/>at the finnisy fannasy fop<br/>you think you can skip<br/>you avoided hip hop?<br/><br/>Take the quo the queue<br/>cos as the meme goes<br/>Shakespeare's Pi<br/>hates the pomes of an emo<br/><br/>muscle bound brat you think<br/>you diss an old man<br/>you can get away with that?<br/><br/>get a bucket of cold water<br/>over your dread head nought fed<br/>bullying a brother<br/><br/>as if kooris and murris worry<br/>about your shit, I mean<br/>wtf is up with you?<br/>Did your team lose on the weekend?<br/>Did you lose on the pokies?<br/>Did Alan Jones say a word you couldn't understand but<br/>suddenly you were empowered like an Ayn Rand absolute blitzkrieg<br/>and would drop that word on Facebook and feel like the time<br/>you came third in Year 9 Maths 5?<br/><br/>There's a whole wide world of pain<br/>you're adding to<br/>subtract the fact<br/>that your own scene<br/>aint so crash<br/>hot<br/>so crash someone else<br/>within an inch of their snot?<br/><br/>Yous a fool<br/>and I'm a big dog<br/>flying over Sydney<br/>things looking dizzy like<br/>Michael Dransfield in a hissy fit<br/>plying Greenknowe Dolphin Street<br/>for damask dusk busk<br/>sweet<br/><br/>violence is the Pal to my meat<br/>and I a eat it<br/>like a feast of fire<br/>fancy fairy girls<br/>and the elegiac squires<br/><br/>would you play me<br/>like fool's flicc<br/>or disrupt my chick?<br/><br/>prince of cats<br/>you're a cad<br/>in elizabeatin' that means bad<br/>om shanti shanti<br/>Eliot's Nest untouchable<br/>wasteland behind Marrickville Woolies<br/><br/>a coxcomb on the head of a rooster<br/>minichello strings full to wing<br/>pass the craft<br/>pass the crate<br/>at a party with your mates<br/>Lebanese Spenser Queene<br/>non-pareil to my dream<br/><br/>in my daily vesper ride<br/>it's like suicide riskin'<br/>my neck on the Hume<br/>for the nymph on thy orisons<br/>for my matins<br/><br/>quo<br/><br/>induct the sun will rise<br/>the habitus of rabbitus<br/>burroughs and warren beatty<br/>screamed for Carly and Madonna<br/><br/>honour<br/><br/>one-eye-in-the-mirror app<br/>Jacobean Jolly fap<br/>mimicking the gimmicking<br/>bowtie Janelle Monae<br/>discursive fashion rabbit<br/>js harry pottering in the holes<br/>with moles of Paul Celan<br/>and the hobbits<br/><br/>underground is the goblet<br/>the magma to earth to sphere<br/>that's the dot info m'dear<br/><br/>semi hemiosis<br/>drunk on poiesis<br/>like old spice icelandia<br/>mixed with myxamatosis<br/>cirhossis L.<br/><br/><br/><br/>check the stamp, tramp<br/><i>"skáldskapar mjaðar"</i></p>"When I am alone..."tag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-11-18:5231298:BlogPost:449892012-11-18T14:16:31.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p>When I am alone for many years<br></br>the voice of people whisked away<br></br>the epistrophe of their entreaties<br></br>do not escape me<br></br><br></br>the planets by radial circuitry<br></br>hum and integrate the calls<br></br>to return by broadcasts<br></br>heard solely by<br></br><br></br>not my ear but the<br></br>porous waves<br></br>interrupting my thoughts<br></br>as rude music<br></br>that makes me smile knowingly<br></br><br></br>"Ah, they miss me" I think<br></br>When I am alone I miss them<br></br>with pointed fury<br></br><br></br>the heart is a silent…</p>
<p>When I am alone for many years<br/>the voice of people whisked away<br/>the epistrophe of their entreaties<br/>do not escape me<br/><br/>the planets by radial circuitry<br/>hum and integrate the calls<br/>to return by broadcasts<br/>heard solely by<br/><br/>not my ear but the<br/>porous waves<br/>interrupting my thoughts<br/>as rude music<br/>that makes me smile knowingly<br/><br/>"Ah, they miss me" I think<br/>When I am alone I miss them<br/>with pointed fury<br/><br/>the heart is a silent radio<br/>we don't perceive<br/>yet in some strata<br/>message beam<br/>unbroken cast<br/>when I see old friends.</p>A Memory Maptag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-11-13:5231298:BlogPost:446912012-11-13T08:59:53.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p><span class="userContent">Impatience to finish responsibilities<br></br>is the sour nectar to panic<br></br>this refrain dissonates<br></br> <br></br> the memory of myself as a child<br></br> therefore<br></br><span class="text_exposed_hide">...</span></span></p>
<div class="text_exposed_show"><br></br> the chronos line to youth<br></br> I do not walk down memory lane<br></br> but leap to the boy I was<br></br> <br></br> the mnemic arch<br></br> the leap to past<br></br> was the habit formed<br></br> to use thought<br></br> as jump<br></br> <br></br> the…</div>
<p><span class="userContent">Impatience to finish responsibilities<br/>is the sour nectar to panic<br/>this refrain dissonates<br/> <br/> the memory of myself as a child<br/> therefore<br/><span class="text_exposed_hide">...</span></span></p>
<div class="text_exposed_show"><br/> the chronos line to youth<br/> I do not walk down memory lane<br/> but leap to the boy I was<br/> <br/> the mnemic arch<br/> the leap to past<br/> was the habit formed<br/> to use thought<br/> as jump<br/> <br/> the suspension in height<br/> perceives chasms<br/> <br/> and he never thought of walking<br/> through slaughter<br/> to meet his young self<br/> <br/> the habitual leaper<br/> strolls<br/> and must never doubt<br/> that time's chain will not snap<br/> for the past has happened<br/> <br/> and forgetting is but a too bright<br/> link that blinds<br/> <br/> walk with patience, memory<br/> because the unfinished waits too.</div>The Blue Space! Poetry Jam 1st birthdaytag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-10-31:5231298:BlogPost:449302012-10-31T08:05:22.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2806581224?profile=original" target="_self"><img class="align-left" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2806581224?profile=original" width="300"></img></a> The Blue Space! Poetry Jam celebrates its first birthday.<br></br><br></br>We will feature an open mic and a slam to get festive! Musicians in attendance and still a GFC busting $5.<br></br><br></br>You are all warmly welcome :)<br></br><br></br>PS There was a rumour of cake but it's just a rumour!<br></br><br></br>Details - <br></br><br></br>Thursday November 15th from 7pm - 10pm.<br></br><br></br>at Petersham Bowling…</p>
<p><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2806581224?profile=original" target="_self"><img class="align-left" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2806581224?profile=original" width="300"/></a>The Blue Space! Poetry Jam celebrates its first birthday.<br/><br/>We will feature an open mic and a slam to get festive! Musicians in attendance and still a GFC busting $5.<br/><br/>You are all warmly welcome :)<br/><br/>PS There was a rumour of cake but it's just a rumour!<br/><br/>Details - <br/><br/>Thursday November 15th from 7pm - 10pm.<br/><br/>at Petersham Bowling Club<br/><br/>77 Brighton St Petersham.<br/><br/>any enquiries to <a href="mailto:director@elasticsidewalk.com">director@elasticsidewalk.com</a> <br/><br/>Oh and yes - it's the last Blue Space! for 2012.</p>Poet Hearttag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-10-15:5231298:BlogPost:436172012-10-15T18:59:35.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p><span>A bridge</span><br></br><br></br><span>and four chambers</span><br></br><br></br><span>choir</span><br></br><br></br><span>by memory sing</span><br></br><br></br><span>the flowing </span><br></br><br></br><span>centre of ready</span><br></br><br></br><span>life exchange</span><br></br><br></br><span>blood</span><br></br><br></br><span>forgotten by a man</span><br></br><br></br><span>muscle</span><br></br><br></br><span>language of stratus</span><br></br><br></br><span>smile</span><br></br><br></br><span>on the surface</span><br></br><br></br><span>necessity</span><br></br><br></br><span>of…</span></p>
<p><span>A bridge</span><br/><br/><span>and four chambers</span><br/><br/><span>choir</span><br/><br/><span>by memory sing</span><br/><br/><span>the flowing </span><br/><br/><span>centre of ready</span><br/><br/><span>life exchange</span><br/><br/><span>blood</span><br/><br/><span>forgotten by a man</span><br/><br/><span>muscle</span><br/><br/><span>language of stratus</span><br/><br/><span>smile</span><br/><br/><span>on the surface</span><br/><br/><span>necessity</span><br/><br/><span>of resignation to</span><br/><br/><span>world</span><br/><br/><span>of differences</span><br/><br/><span>navigator's</span><br/><br/><span>embassy open for</span><br/><br/><span>death</span><br/><br/><span>sent communique</span><br/><br/><span>reminder to rise</span><br/><br/><span>sotto</span><br/><br/><span>soft game to greet</span><br/><br/><span>thy choiring strings</span><br/><br/><span>by memory song</span><br/><br/><span>reminding</span><br/><br/><span>death commands to smile</span><br/><br/><span>love</span><br/><br/><span>dies happy</span><br/><br/><span>lives happy</span><br/><br/><span>by a string.</span></p>Archipelogos IVtag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-10-02:5231298:BlogPost:432032012-10-02T14:29:14.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p><span>The quiet panorama of a gold coin</span><br></br> <span>headless corona</span><br></br> <span>shine circa void</span><br></br>
<br></br>
<span>no Sun King or brumaire</span><br></br>
<br></br>
<span>round nominal colours</span><br></br>
<span>lake of essence</span><br></br>
<span>transuence of a day's fantasia</span><br></br>
<br></br>
<span>the shell told stories</span><br></br>
<span>of elsewheres internal</span><br></br>
<span>inhabited by mutant waves</span><br></br>
<br></br>
<span>and he, in all teeth and beak</span><br></br>
<span>in…</span></p>
<p><span>The quiet panorama of a gold coin</span><br/> <span>headless corona</span><br/>
<span>shine circa void</span><br/>
<br/>
<span>no Sun King or brumaire</span><br/>
<br/>
<span>round nominal colours</span><br/>
<span>lake of essence</span><br/>
<span>transuence of a day's fantasia</span><br/>
<br/>
<span>the shell told stories</span><br/>
<span>of elsewheres internal</span><br/>
<span>inhabited by mutant waves</span><br/>
<br/>
<span>and he, in all teeth and beak</span><br/>
<span>in wing and shoe</span><br/>
<br/>
<span>took break to pattern</span><br/>
<span>blew crackling air</span><br/>
<span>and dove</span><br/>
<br/>
<span>to grab the sun</span><br/>
<span>yellowfin</span><br/>
<span>in the lake</span><br/>
<br/>
<span>his torso of mud</span><br/>
<span>and down</span><br/>
<br/>
<span>his caw tolling</span><br/>
<span>in distant valleys</span><br/>
<br/>
<span>his surrendered thunder</span><br/>
<span>of aim</span><br/>
<br/>
<span>he drank from the lake</span><br/>
<br/>
<span>annulus in annulus</span><br/>
<br/>
<span>and the sun wriggles in his maw.</span></p>Hug of the Hivetag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-09-22:5231298:BlogPost:429312012-09-22T14:30:00.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p><span>Warm</span></p>
<p><span>I receive her body</span></p>
<p><span>embrace of pollen</span></p>
<p><span>and wool</span></p>
<p><br></br> <span>Her squeeze</span></p>
<p><span>I breathe as</span></p>
<p><span>my chest becomes</span></p>
<p><span>metal to heat</span></p>
<p><br></br> <span>running honey</span></p>
<p><span>to my mouth</span></p>
<p><span>my face</span></p>
<p><br></br> <span>Care</span></p>
<p><span>of breast and arms</span></p>
<p><span>my gift</span></p>
<p><span>is the…</span></p>
<p><span>Warm</span></p>
<p><span>I receive her body</span></p>
<p><span>embrace of pollen</span></p>
<p><span>and wool</span></p>
<p><br/> <span>Her squeeze</span></p>
<p><span>I breathe as</span></p>
<p><span>my chest becomes</span></p>
<p><span>metal to heat</span></p>
<p><br/> <span>running honey</span></p>
<p><span>to my mouth</span></p>
<p><span>my face</span></p>
<p><br/> <span>Care</span></p>
<p><span>of breast and arms</span></p>
<p><span>my gift</span></p>
<p><span>is the hive</span></p>
<p><span>climates mingle</span></p>
<p><span>a sensation of bees</span></p>
<p><span>make hot swarm</span></p>
<p><span>to hold friend,</span></p>
<p><br/> <span>whose eyes</span></p>
<p><span>are in a birthday</span></p>
<p><span>at home.</span></p>Archipelogos IIItag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-09-03:5231298:BlogPost:420142012-09-03T11:45:22.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p><span>We came to the islands</span><br></br><span>the sun rose from the ground</span><br></br><br></br><span>hieroglyphics of yearning collectives</span><br></br><span>arms raised to shake</span><br></br><span>equanimity's wheat</span><br></br><br></br><span>for the day's work</span><br></br><span>reading stones</span><br></br><span>etched with lifecycle by evening</span><br></br><br></br><span>the tree sap enters the finch</span><br></br><span>through night</span><br></br><span>for the tree must sing too</span><br></br><br></br><span>promises…</span></p>
<p><span>We came to the islands</span><br/><span>the sun rose from the ground</span><br/><br/><span>hieroglyphics of yearning collectives</span><br/><span>arms raised to shake</span><br/><span>equanimity's wheat</span><br/><br/><span>for the day's work</span><br/><span>reading stones</span><br/><span>etched with lifecycle by evening</span><br/><br/><span>the tree sap enters the finch</span><br/><span>through night</span><br/><span>for the tree must sing too</span><br/><br/><span>promises exchanged in the night's</span><br/><span>treasury</span><br/><span>the moon the brightest coin</span><br/><br/><span>in an economy of whispers</span><br/><span>and understandings of "yes, let's do"</span><br/><span>the moon gulped our dreams</span><br/><br/><span>like red syrup the serum</span><br/><span>the harem the theorem</span><br/><span>the space I have reserved</span><br/><br/><span>for Pythagoras in my memory</span><br/><span>is shaped like a triangle</span><br/><span>the waves fire up</span><br/><br/><span>we have left our boat by the broken cove</span><br/><span>and the homes we first see</span><br/><span>are re-used shipwrecks</span><br/><br/><span>busied with curtains, tables</span><br/><span>alcoholic chandeliers</span><br/><span>conversations on the fantasy of dinner</span><br/><br/><span>our companion stifled their laughter</span><br/><span>as we all did not</span><br/><span>want our presence to be known.</span></p>Archipelogos IItag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-08-20:5231298:BlogPost:413982012-08-20T17:40:35.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p><span>and the islands sloughed off</span><br></br><span>the mainland</span><br></br><span>in a continuum geocritical</span><br></br><br></br><span>break upon break</span><br></br><span>division upon division</span><br></br><span>of terrestrial meisosis</span><br></br><br></br><span>many in the many</span><br></br><span>no man is Robinson Crusoe Island</span><br></br><span>but I have lived on him</span><br></br><br></br><span>quakes that break</span><br></br><span>great lakes and landmasses</span><br></br><span>fed to…</span></p>
<p><span>and the islands sloughed off</span><br/><span>the mainland</span><br/><span>in a continuum geocritical</span><br/><br/><span>break upon break</span><br/><span>division upon division</span><br/><span>of terrestrial meisosis</span><br/><br/><span>many in the many</span><br/><span>no man is Robinson Crusoe Island</span><br/><span>but I have lived on him</span><br/><br/><span>quakes that break</span><br/><span>great lakes and landmasses</span><br/><span>fed to fish</span><br/><br/><span>glacier crack</span><br/><span>tumble to the</span><br/><span>opening of an avalanche</span><br/><br/><span>the cold shakes us</span><br/><span>to remind of life</span><br/><span>amongst cold feet</span><br/><br/><span>amongst microbes</span><br/><span>struggling for air</span><br/><span>frozen since inception</span><br/><br/><span>what is life?</span><br/><span>says the microbe</span><br/><span>for want of air</span><br/><br/><span>and atmosphere</span><br/><br/><span>what is fertile?</span><br/><span>what is soil?</span><br/><span>what is fecund?</span><br/><br/><span>in the single cell</span><br/><span>on an island of ice</span><br/><span>off the age of the equator</span><br/><br/><span>it breaks</span><br/><br/><span>it breaks.</span></p>Archipelogostag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-08-20:5231298:BlogPost:413962012-08-20T17:32:29.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p>It was the cliff<br></br>broken with reason<br></br>that landed on seapaper<br></br>forming theoretical islands<br></br>bunched like coins in a purse<br></br><br></br>in the stitches<br></br>between reason<br></br>theoretical lifeforms arose<br></br>out of the clear rush<br></br>coming to shore like baby<br></br><br></br>incomparably, legs were four<br></br>trees ached<br></br>with theoretical yearning<br></br>for seed and windsong<br></br>long like a spun horse's braid<br></br><br></br>is the cold of the North different<br></br>to the cold of the South?<br></br>the…</p>
<p>It was the cliff<br/>broken with reason<br/>that landed on seapaper<br/>forming theoretical islands<br/>bunched like coins in a purse<br/><br/>in the stitches<br/>between reason<br/>theoretical lifeforms arose<br/>out of the clear rush<br/>coming to shore like baby<br/><br/>incomparably, legs were four<br/>trees ached<br/>with theoretical yearning<br/>for seed and windsong<br/>long like a spun horse's braid<br/><br/>is the cold of the North different<br/>to the cold of the South?<br/>the theoretical rockfaces<br/>by cuneiform said so.<br/>Different - like relatives.<br/><br/>Until you brought the islands in your pocket,<br/>there was no sand on the shore<br/>and the possibility of habitats<br/>were distant<br/>like constant statistical disbelief.</p>The Shipyardtag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-08-20:5231298:BlogPost:414982012-08-20T17:04:58.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p><span>The night harbours<br></br>blink with electricity<br></br>to nerve<br></br><br></br>the port head<br></br>and lighthouse eye<br></br>every bone is a ship<br></br>the skeleton fleet<br></br>mooring to journey</span><br></br><span>of body<br></br>in the coming morning<br></br><br></br>the night harbours<br></br>ghostreadings<br></br>that steal away to dancehalls<br></br>sailor to shorewalker to dancehall dancer<br></br>treading boards on the pier<br></br>the sun hesitates to rise<br></br>thankfully<br></br>and the salt hull<br></br>shares to sails brimming<br></br>masts…</span></p>
<p><span>The night harbours<br/>blink with electricity<br/>to nerve<br/><br/>the port head<br/>and lighthouse eye<br/>every bone is a ship<br/>the skeleton fleet<br/>mooring to journey</span><br/><span>of body<br/>in the coming morning<br/><br/>the night harbours<br/>ghostreadings<br/>that steal away to dancehalls<br/>sailor to shorewalker to dancehall dancer<br/>treading boards on the pier<br/>the sun hesitates to rise<br/>thankfully<br/>and the salt hull<br/>shares to sails brimming<br/>masts of loring while anchors think<br/><br/>the ghostlife blink<br/>in spinning with salt to sail<br/>a gull hears the word gull<br/>nerve sporing to seaskin of salt<br/><br/>the depth is dark-green with similarity<br/>for certain sailors dance with air<br/>every minute of their lives.</span></p>For Someone in Generaltag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-08-13:5231298:BlogPost:412602012-08-13T05:40:20.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<div>Permutations of rainscatter on the</div>
<div>Macquarie Street concrete<br></br>spring interrupted winter for a whole week<br></br>before gales ripped roofs and flags<br></br>I imagined you walking next to me on a night<br></br>nearly idyllic but for the absence of you<br></br><br></br>you, colourful lion on a bicycle</div>
<div>You, mare on an escalator</div>
<div>You, idea on a jinxed plane<br></br><br></br>That you exist is beyond question<br></br>but how you exist -<br></br><br></br>in selfperceivings <br></br>in present…</div>
<div>Permutations of rainscatter on the</div>
<div>Macquarie Street concrete<br/>spring interrupted winter for a whole week<br/>before gales ripped roofs and flags<br/>I imagined you walking next to me on a night<br/>nearly idyllic but for the absence of you<br/><br/>you, colourful lion on a bicycle</div>
<div>You, mare on an escalator</div>
<div>You, idea on a jinxed plane<br/><br/>That you exist is beyond question<br/>but how you exist -<br/><br/>in selfperceivings <br/>in present cells,<br/>in the naming and imagination of others, <br/>(including myself, friends and bystanders)<br/><br/>in the memory of those who wish for you<br/>in the glimpses of unknown minds<br/>in the embeds of green and orange comets<br/>the pavement that hold the traces of your shoestep<br/><br/>in the exits of ant nests<br/>of parts of harvest you have eaten<br/>in the soil your soul searched for <br/>like a fumbled match on a red velvet rug<br/>like a rare flight of peacock feathers<br/>in an intentional vase<br/><br/>how you exist for perfect machines<br/>for soft, looping dimensions<br/>and the uninvented chants</div>
<div>And rondeaus played by subtle musicians<br/>verging on songwriting<br/><br/>and and and<br/><br/>How days and weathers made space for you<br/>how the permutation of rainscatter on Macquarie Street concrete<br/>made you a warm arm on my side<br/><br/>made space for you in the swarm of bodies<br/>and by the neon signs in the cosmopolis<br/><br/>How clothes in shop windows wear you<br/>and transport takes you<br/>while your house waits for your arrival<br/>and the television is ready to see you<br/>see it<br/><br/>How your very thoughts think you<br/>and how you nourish the food you eat<br/>how the one you desire dreams of you<br/><br/>and how the mathematics of your hands solve<br/>you and those you touch<br/><br/>how the future looks forward to you<br/>and the now easily enjoys you<br/>how the past has resolved you<br/>and how it used to fret for you<br/>in trying to figure out why you happened<br/>just the way you happened<br/><br/>and why you did the things that happened to you<br/>that remember you and those that forget you<br/>and those that re-emerge and cannot forget you<br/><br/>how your name knows you<br/>how suggestions drop you from a height<br/>how kisses are absent around you<br/>until they smile, yes, your lips<br/><br/>how the entirety of your days’ voyages live you<br/>and its invitation celebrates you<br/>and how you appreciate these words<br/>that you have written to me to say you are remembered,<br/>loved, sought after, overlooked, threatened, welcomed,</div>
<p>taken interest in, engaged with, embracing and embraced.</p>Poem for "The Gamut" art projecttag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-08-02:5231298:BlogPost:407782012-08-02T05:00:00.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<div>The geometry of eking a living,</div>
<div>a harvesting, a seeing, the sense of air, </div>
<div>a body clothed - whether the temperatures rules us </div>
<div>in wide planes, and whether we can sleep</div>
<div>in an open sustenance of breeze<br></br> <br></br> Protection to play the while as a mimick-bird</div>
<div>lyres and lazes in flight’s reach - a garden to scarcity,</div>
<div>love to the aimless, fire and plant to the broth<br></br> <br></br> here, take this, this is love, and fire and plant…</div>
<div>The geometry of eking a living,</div>
<div>a harvesting, a seeing, the sense of air, </div>
<div>a body clothed - whether the temperatures rules us </div>
<div>in wide planes, and whether we can sleep</div>
<div>in an open sustenance of breeze<br/> <br/> Protection to play the while as a mimick-bird</div>
<div>lyres and lazes in flight’s reach - a garden to scarcity,</div>
<div>love to the aimless, fire and plant to the broth<br/> <br/> here, take this, this is love, and fire and plant -<br/> a prehistory of danger stains perception to hesitate;<br/> when running, riding the outline of a horse to certain shores,</div>
<div>sand ushered smiles are the sureties </div>
<div>as the common of touch to a shoulder<br/> <br/> and accord – an agreement of limbs,</div>
<div>a lullaby of hands of hers and his - </div>
<div>waving words that were primarily song, </div>
<div>that became trust by sun-ray then grew </div>
<div>as animal proximity to the</div>
<div>green weight of ka-buzzing night, <br/> <br/> the fixity of crystal telegrams<br/> found in brimming deltas transmitting from<br/> their internal elsewheres nouns that</div>
<div>blanketed shared landscape and system</div>
<div>to signpost past jagged meanderings.</div>
<div><br/>John near drowned at Point Immediacy<br/> but surrendered to the nets, to familiarities,</div>
<div>to consignments of waking, dreaming and descriptions</div>
<div>that said “this one I didn’t know, this one I let go,</div>
<div> this was one was not captured” <br/> <br/> all this struck me, the unrelatable, the fish that</div>
<div>escaped leftwards in invisible moves. We knew</div>
<div>the chapters of escape – you and I landed</div>
<div>that role too and lingered in pages of clouds</div>
<div>whilst others sought to wake us with</div>
<div>the common of touch to a shoulder.</div>
<div><br/> Our then-returned simplicity wrote signatures</div>
<div>as generous as broad summer.</div>Tanara!tag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-06-25:5231298:BlogPost:403512012-06-25T04:33:55.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
Livian hentarin, canetras curively,<br />
howing lin miu<br />
<br />
pointule sobee lezanba<br />
cruish ku,<br />
<br />
tribly basgondig trir sktistup<br />
prasleirli, blaffly, threelie<br />
<br />
livian hentaring, canetras curively,<br />
<br />
curverly, eshin discriavely<br />
sclammed findenbo sytgra<br />
<br />
bligerevas e ekvedae dhowb<br />
resgalee princongee aarplumi ahhh!<br />
<br />
eren bas rebas sosho bereque ne bas<br />
<br />
wrery towahgie? loz nobay kirinki<br />
tu kai<br />
inne ne inne delargh my rechiettel'n<br />
<br />
degra laeg bisuey heh!<br />
<br />
canetras re lowrieg ekvedar za.
Livian hentarin, canetras curively,<br />
howing lin miu<br />
<br />
pointule sobee lezanba<br />
cruish ku,<br />
<br />
tribly basgondig trir sktistup<br />
prasleirli, blaffly, threelie<br />
<br />
livian hentaring, canetras curively,<br />
<br />
curverly, eshin discriavely<br />
sclammed findenbo sytgra<br />
<br />
bligerevas e ekvedae dhowb<br />
resgalee princongee aarplumi ahhh!<br />
<br />
eren bas rebas sosho bereque ne bas<br />
<br />
wrery towahgie? loz nobay kirinki<br />
tu kai<br />
inne ne inne delargh my rechiettel'n<br />
<br />
degra laeg bisuey heh!<br />
<br />
canetras re lowrieg ekvedar za.Planettag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-06-18:5231298:BlogPost:405172012-06-18T16:28:53.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p>The expanse<br/>of a chest<br/><br/>is planet-like<br/><br/>as breathless is to hyperventilation<br/><br/>the planet spores as pleomorphism and<br/>gasps in pneumatophores<br/><br/>the soft mangrove roots <br/><br/>muddy to the apsis<br/><br/>the flower heats anemophilic<br/><br/>to love a plant-christmas<br/><br/>of nightqueen's nostalgia<br/><br/>savages the political perihelion<br/><br/>of this expanse <br/>a planet's inspiring<br/>chest.</p>
<p>The expanse<br/>of a chest<br/><br/>is planet-like<br/><br/>as breathless is to hyperventilation<br/><br/>the planet spores as pleomorphism and<br/>gasps in pneumatophores<br/><br/>the soft mangrove roots <br/><br/>muddy to the apsis<br/><br/>the flower heats anemophilic<br/><br/>to love a plant-christmas<br/><br/>of nightqueen's nostalgia<br/><br/>savages the political perihelion<br/><br/>of this expanse <br/>a planet's inspiring<br/>chest.</p>Time is Moneytag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-06-18:5231298:BlogPost:405152012-06-18T16:21:02.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<h3 class="post-title entry-title"><strong> </strong></h3>
<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-6751049849871074587">The homeless are dead therefore<br></br>or walking-eternals<br></br>in timeless necessary infernals<br></br>as are animals<br></br>and the tree felled uneconomically<br></br><br></br>Financial freedom laughs at time<br></br>contemptible<br></br>time to burn<br></br>time to kill</div>
<div class="post-body entry-content"></div>
<div class="post-body entry-content">in warfare<br></br><br></br>Them that have the…</div>
<h3 class="post-title entry-title"><strong> </strong></h3>
<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-6751049849871074587">The homeless are dead therefore<br/>or walking-eternals<br/>in timeless necessary infernals<br/>as are animals<br/>and the tree felled uneconomically<br/><br/>Financial freedom laughs at time<br/>contemptible<br/>time to burn<br/>time to kill</div>
<div class="post-body entry-content"></div>
<div class="post-body entry-content">in warfare<br/><br/>Them that have the most, win<br/>the accounted ones, accountables and accessorised<br/>with accounts<br/><br/>debts, and complaints thereof<br/>are grounds<br/>and not the hypnic corpse<br/>spirited away by submachine dreams<br/>of black gold eternity on alien fields of<br/>poppy or code pulse, foundling-like<br/><br/>Accumulation is saved up<br/>destruction feted with golden paper<br/>glisten, red paper envelopes from a new<br/>year welcomed with gunpowder - as time drags on...<br/><br/>Time is today, like a perverted napoleonic exchange<br/>of rat status, imperious and grossly diplomatic with<br/>unconquerable zero-sum mind games<br/><br/>those who burn, win<br/><br/>the hot-mined fever is victory blazoned<br/>for the destitute<br/>and the radio what-about-mes 24/7 from those <br/>with enough<br/><br/>more than enough<br/><br/>and free is a neuronal rush to a somehow confectionary Boxing Day.</div>Hyperventilationtag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-06-07:5231298:BlogPost:400072012-06-07T16:27:31.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p><span>Lying static</span><br></br><span>fuzzy station</span><br></br><span>airy</span><br></br><span>radio noise</span><br></br><span>near ears</span><br></br><br></br><span>you can hear</span><br></br><span>late night</span><br></br><span>bird spark</span><br></br><br></br><span>ruined by</span><br></br><span>caresses</span><br></br><span>of the truth</span><br></br><br></br><span>that your eyes</span><br></br><span>want to love me</span><br></br><span>and melt</span><br></br><br></br><span>in pity</span><br></br><span>at acceptance</span><br></br><span>of…</span></p>
<p><span>Lying static</span><br/><span>fuzzy station</span><br/><span>airy</span><br/><span>radio noise</span><br/><span>near ears</span><br/><br/><span>you can hear</span><br/><span>late night</span><br/><span>bird spark</span><br/><br/><span>ruined by</span><br/><span>caresses</span><br/><span>of the truth</span><br/><br/><span>that your eyes</span><br/><span>want to love me</span><br/><span>and melt</span><br/><br/><span>in pity</span><br/><span>at acceptance</span><br/><span>of circumstance</span><br/><br/><span>dance with</span><br/><span>a wheezing ghost</span><br/><span>at a seance</span><br/><br/><span>your molten fire danger sign</span><br/><span>has me on the floor</span><br/><span>in smoke-asphyxiated</span><br/><span>yeas.</span></p>Homewords for Malouftag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-05-27:5231298:BlogPost:393882012-05-27T03:48:07.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p><span>The quiet orthodoxy of more</span><br></br><span>than just fitting in,</span><br></br><span>snug your cry, never to conquer your poverty</span><br></br><span>of dance</span><br></br><br></br><span>The quiet orthodoxy of distance</span><br></br><span>unpiercing and asymptotic</span><br></br><span>here, take this mug - it belongs to your</span><br></br><span>absent hand that had thieved it prior</span><br></br><span>and placed it there, right there, perfectly there</span><br></br><br></br><span>So we would not…</span></p>
<p><span>The quiet orthodoxy of more</span><br/><span>than just fitting in,</span><br/><span>snug your cry, never to conquer your poverty</span><br/><span>of dance</span><br/><br/><span>The quiet orthodoxy of distance</span><br/><span>unpiercing and asymptotic</span><br/><span>here, take this mug - it belongs to your</span><br/><span>absent hand that had thieved it prior</span><br/><span>and placed it there, right there, perfectly there</span><br/><br/><span>So we would not notice</span><br/><span>as we</span><br/><span>incapable as Xeno's Delphic fletcher</span><br/><span>was of almost lying</span><br/><br/><span>yet almost, sickening as starchy lace</span><br/><br/><span>The quiet orthodoxy of the nod</span><br/><span>rondos that attack knowingly that, yes</span><br/><span>um </span><strike>*I know*</strike><span>,</span><br/><br/><span>of the Teuton strain of English</span><br/><span>the triumphalist fox that knows its mirror</span><br/><span>and no other foxes</span><br/><br/><span>The English invented Hellas via Prussia, with love</span><br/><span>"We were at least polite, shoot and weep"</span><br/><span>with laughter, here Mr Gervais,</span><br/><span>meet Manuel, the Italian boxer,</span><br/><span>The Great White Bob No-Hoper,</span><br/><span>and um </span><strike>*I know*</strike><br/><br/><span>The quite orthodoxy of correctness,</span><br/><span>as a man's eyes are dirt and a woman's modesty</span><br/><span>was shameless as car out of the car wash on a sunny day,</span><br/><span>no-one got hurt, and the knight salutes</span><br/><span>for the morality of rape, and flips it to conquering</span><br/><span>and raping whilst his Queen will not see blood</span><br/><br/><span>Love of the forest, of magic families that killed for crowns,</span><br/><span>and progeny only shone under the blood of the only royal oak,</span><br/><span>the only royal oak that knew no other royal oaks and yes</span><br/><span>um </span><strike>*I know*</strike><span> no felling or poaching,</span><br/><br/><span>the fuckers flipped the bird</span><br/><br/><span>Here is a hat, here is a vizier, here is the fuckslap</span><br/><span>of knightarcher on horseback</span><br/><br/><span>The interstitial infinities unthreaded, resewn intent</span><br/><span>were palpable enough to hit silver targets</span><br/><span>as factic as barked oak-tree common untouchable</span><br/><span>to targets tiny, at the very most, time was hit.</span><br/><br/><span>triple 20 to win the game.</span><br/><br/><span>the quiet orthodoxy was boxed on the ear.</span><br/><br/><span>B.</span><br/><br/><span>Grinning lazes of Xeno, vin funebre, rushing drunkenwards</span><br/><span>homely writer, Ma Loafer, we call you Rowdy,</span><br/><span>Raudhi, a poem for public and society,</span><br/><span>not for the orthodoxy of verandahs</span><br/><span>and a buzz of insect-cliche resonating through broken-record eucalypt-blue nights,</span><br/><span>waking up to the summer buzz of insect-cliche</span><br/><span>for Europe radiates no cicadas...</span><br/><span>...everywhere</span><br/><br/><span>Where the call for quiet is the truth of home, and the street is home</span><br/><span>to the quiet orthodox, priest of milk and wonders,</span><br/><span>exhausted by danger's tolling,</span><br/><br/><span>The reverence of the Chamber has gone to Mendelssohn's pot,</span><br/><span>oh we know, we Germans, of real things, idealism and the outformed egos,</span><br/><span>Rumpendumpenduppelstinggangerabgelangervielevielenochmalboese!!!!!!!!!!!baby</span><br/><span>resided in Mosman concerts of high off white ceilings, privilege of velvet armchairs</span><br/><span>and artsy urinals of Potts Point that almost got there</span><br/><span>where Xenos fletchers arrived in sailor suits more powerful than a sordid horselocation,</span><br/><span>impressive as proximate cleavage</span><br/><br/><span>as the epistrophe's formulaic miracle goes</span><br/><span>the Good One (must) outfox</span><br/><span>-es his Casper David Friedrich morality,</span><br/><br/><span>The quiet orthodoxy of belonging,</span><br/><span>smug, despicable, outrageously misrepresentative,</span><br/><br/><span>Fit's Law of the rainforest, creek and sands,</span><br/><span>before all else,</span><br/><span>it's why our coppers carry guns and our citizens do not...</span><br/><br/><span>It's an architect's world, and governmental errants on the side</span><br/><span>of their Medicine families and Privilege is Right. Money makes</span><br/><span>Knowledge, and suburban discursives are only equal to incarceration,</span><br/><span>the blackyer, slopyer and stinkyer they are, mamma, thank you Dr. Doctoring.</span><br/><br/><span>C.</span><br/><br/><span>the quiet orthodoxy of foul privileged dinner sets,</span><br/><span>bohemian crystal that has never booned intoxication</span><br/><span>laughable!</span><br/><span>In this fury at privileged poverty of dancing</span><br/><span>this has made a space of furrows</span><br/><span>for your clumsy Teutonic Knight hoofs,</span><br/><span>Your horses dance better than the plum grammar mouth that embeds its own value</span><br/><span>for hot wheat. So many Rinehardts and Smythesmiths should have wept in bone shame</span><br/><span>for pristine bohemian crystal, unbroken, lest we touch it breaks</span><br/><br/><span>ekphrasia of seed and sex</span><br/><br/><span>never saw an intoxicated living room, a corrupted heirloom</span><br/><span>homespinnings and woollyverses talk of bush and harbour</span><br/><span>and the beach is left for pederasty and kinky coming of age</span><br/><br/><span>salvame by middens</span><br/><br/><span>salve regine by kelp not ghostgum or doublemint</span><br/><br/><span>the withdrawl to regionalism, the wholesomeness of radio of the air</span><br/><span>and belonging sandwiches, you shall have egg, you shall have devon,</span><br/><span>the deviance is all well and gone for the delicatess</span><br/><span>but the value of lightwholesomeness persists as the quiet orthodoxy of shut ups</span><br/><span>and the street is not mine but mine, and it is all mine including the not mine</span><br/><span>as said in Vietnamese.</span><br/><br/><span>The quiet orthodoxy of dance, where finally the Teutonic knight cannot keep their</span><br/><span>heads up and steely gazes for boofhead fighting</span><br/><span>but look downwords to shoes that again should have wept in bone shame</span><br/><span>but hardons are the mystery of the dance of streets we own</span><br/><span>streets of quiet where we can only hear ourselves</span><br/><span>where shut up and quiet is confused with humility</span><br/><span>and confused easierly with violence and struggle</span><br/><span>on laminated tables of one voice and one epiphyte and a gaggle of infant suckers</span><br/><span>where the soldier as soldier is the highest rank of the land</span><br/><span>the gun fits better with the voice here and there</span><br/><br/><span>snow monkeys that huddle close in warm pools of what-about-me,</span><br/><span>are not evolved enough for pistols,</span><br/><span>let alone interminable Hellenic arrows </span><br/><span>and the quiet orthodoxy of fitting in home and public agorahouses,</span><br/><span>David Malouf, dance, shut up shutout, shut-in - its the Fit's Law by your chimeless clock.</span></p>Timepiecetag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-05-05:5231298:BlogPost:387892012-05-05T18:58:09.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p><span>Going nowhere fast - and the drunkard's okay with that</span><br></br><span>walking by gardens and globes</span><br></br><span>sundials and a love seat</span><br></br><span>and the whole place has the scent of </span><br></br><span>normality, neither sweet nor stale,</span><br></br><span class="text_exposed_show"><br></br>the brewing happy gales destroy tree<br></br>branches<br></br>randomly. It makes little difference to them<br></br>the patterns are either tyranny, <br></br>free or the obsession between these three…</span></p>
<p><span>Going nowhere fast - and the drunkard's okay with that</span><br/><span>walking by gardens and globes</span><br/><span>sundials and a love seat</span><br/><span>and the whole place has the scent of </span><br/><span>normality, neither sweet nor stale,</span><br/><span class="text_exposed_show"><br/>the brewing happy gales destroy tree<br/>branches<br/>randomly. It makes little difference to them<br/>the patterns are either tyranny, <br/>free or the obsession between these three categories<br/><br/>relating this way, it is summer, and they're delirious, <br/>almost delirious.</span></p>Early 21st Century must-havestag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-03-23:5231298:BlogPost:372852012-03-23T22:30:00.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p>From: I/Thou ext. close up.<br></br> <br></br> Because I love you and life<br></br> as it so appears<br></br> we all shall join hands and wish so fervently<br></br> a cure to all ills<br></br> <br></br> of our own poverties, of time, money or madness<br></br> <br></br> Because I love you and loathe life<br></br> I will enter the progressive stream<br></br> the sweetest wishes and embraces<br></br> of an iron maiden snapped shut<br></br> <br></br> acupuncture needles ever surrounding me <br></br> <br></br> because you love me, and life<br></br> you will…</p>
<p>From: I/Thou ext. close up.<br/> <br/> Because I love you and life<br/> as it so appears<br/> we all shall join hands and wish so fervently<br/> a cure to all ills<br/> <br/> of our own poverties, of time, money or madness<br/> <br/> Because I love you and loathe life<br/> I will enter the progressive stream<br/> the sweetest wishes and embraces<br/> of an iron maiden snapped shut<br/> <br/> acupuncture needles ever surrounding me <br/> <br/> because you love me, and life<br/> you will shower me with honey from<br/> magma<br/> feed me alfalfa sprouts<br/> and trick me with Stravinsky when we know<br/> it was Wagner<br/> <br/> and we will laugh. </p>
<p><br/> because you loathe yourself, and life is a piece of shit<br/> you will eat toast<br/> and at times, indulge in shames of lard and flavoured corn chips<br/> and you will grumble the funniest complaints <br/> of observation<br/> of hypocrites who as highschool boys<br/> never wanked.<br/> <br/> and because you loathe me and life is about tolerance<br/> reasonability would say that by reasonability</p>
<p>and calm persistence, as dogs straining against the leads,<br/> peace arrives in the still estuaries and parklands,<br/> <br/> And because I loathe you and life is about responsibility<br/> I, as your straw man in this phase, finally have a gutful,</p>
<p>disrobes,</p>
<p>and backhands you to your humble semiogenesis.<br/><br/>In most European language there is a filthy slang for that.<br/> <br/> Because we love ourselves and love life <br/> we make nations<br/> <br/> Because we loathe ourselves and love life<br/> we have made the United Nations and make babies<br/> <br/> Because we loathe ourselves and loathe life<br/> we do what we want and sleep with sandwiches<br/> we feed to others.<br/> <br/> The best of us have crumbless beds and <br/>carry sandwiches in their holsters. </p>Oboetag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-03-23:5231298:BlogPost:372792012-03-23T22:24:22.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p>Sound to reed,<br/>waves through a wonder of chiaroscuro<br/><br/>in a mangrove a musician goes duckhunting</p>
<p>specious to the angry mallard<br/>foot aspurred and a violent fuck<br/><br/>on closing in to an open throat of night security</p>
<p>do you have my number? the oboist shuffles</p>
<p><br/>through their oh so kitschy rolodex<br/>"where was their name again<br/>Al, Alex, Alan, Allan, Alen, Alen, Alen, and Allen"<br/><br/> </p>
<p><br/><br/> </p>
<p>Sound to reed,<br/>waves through a wonder of chiaroscuro<br/><br/>in a mangrove a musician goes duckhunting</p>
<p>specious to the angry mallard<br/>foot aspurred and a violent fuck<br/><br/>on closing in to an open throat of night security</p>
<p>do you have my number? the oboist shuffles</p>
<p><br/>through their oh so kitschy rolodex<br/>"where was their name again<br/>Al, Alex, Alan, Allan, Alen, Alen, Alen, and Allen"<br/><br/> </p>
<p><br/><br/> </p>Against Naturetag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-03-23:5231298:BlogPost:374212012-03-23T21:30:00.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p>Charles Mingus hermetic,</p>
<p>collective Mingus and many collectives of Mingii</p>
<p></p>
<p>3-d planar tesselation</p>
<p>by customs, allow many shapes to inhabit</p>
<p> <br></br> the only thing pure in this world is now under doubt,</p>
<p>by ontomathematics, where do they stand? </p>
<p><br></br> quick, Where's Nature? <br></br> Permutations nods about some wandering habit </p>
<p></p>
<p>us, the rule of three, the gang of four, we have the One, to land on the two and<br></br> the filthy fives. Hunt…</p>
<p>Charles Mingus hermetic,</p>
<p>collective Mingus and many collectives of Mingii</p>
<p></p>
<p>3-d planar tesselation</p>
<p>by customs, allow many shapes to inhabit</p>
<p> <br/> the only thing pure in this world is now under doubt,</p>
<p>by ontomathematics, where do they stand? </p>
<p><br/> quick, Where's Nature? <br/> Permutations nods about some wandering habit </p>
<p></p>
<p>us, the rule of three, the gang of four, we have the One, to land on the two and<br/> the filthy fives. Hunt closely, Reverend, homewards bound, we must eat, Kafka barks!<br/> <br/> Behold please, precious ekphrasia of ungenerous reserve, unfurled by courtiers.<br/> Here, heartskin, consume to belong. Good Keats and Kafka don't mind if you</p>
<p></p>
<p>play with your food.</p>
<p><br/> I have heard of colourful chasms and their footholds...</p>
<p>instructed to get closer to the bullets, the twitch-portals</p>
<p></p>
<p>to an animal necessarily imagined, that saves nine.</p>
<p>Leaning up against Nature, a nature which is dead as. <br/> <br/> Don't fear good statesman,<br/> Nature will never be inherently anything.<br/> <br/> It will be something - orphaned and disavowed</p>
<p>green slip mechanics signing off begrudgingly at the racetrack.<br/></p>
<p></p>Roman de la Axl Rose - pep talktag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-03-14:5231298:BlogPost:367872012-03-14T10:00:00.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p>Brother, Brother and Brother<br></br> Brethren, please stand for</p>
<p>the chop.<br></br> <br></br> The name of the rose was<br></br> Love<br></br> and a whole lot of shaking, shushing and STFUing<br></br> going on.<br></br> <br></br> And who is to say you have no apetite for distraction,<br></br> and do not we<br></br><br></br>all<br></br> </p>
<p>at some time wish to be herb to</p>
<p>mortar and pestle <br></br> to the mixmaster blender<br></br> for an easy pesto, ay?<br></br> <br></br> Black and Gold label pasta, staple of champions<br></br> until wiser…</p>
<p>Brother, Brother and Brother<br/> Brethren, please stand for</p>
<p>the chop.<br/> <br/> The name of the rose was<br/> Love<br/> and a whole lot of shaking, shushing and STFUing<br/> going on.<br/> <br/> And who is to say you have no apetite for distraction,<br/> and do not we<br/><br/>all<br/> </p>
<p>at some time wish to be herb to</p>
<p>mortar and pestle <br/> to the mixmaster blender<br/> for an easy pesto, ay?<br/> <br/> Black and Gold label pasta, staple of champions<br/> until wiser economic decisions are made<br/> <br/> monagamy being one amongst many<br/> polyamory for the native orphans<br/> E pleurisy unum<br/> Eat the meal brethren, don't breathe it in whatever you do<br/> <br/> Breatharianism, is the ambrosia made of<br/> the Ichor of the Rose, if you are hungry,<br/> brother, brother, brother and brethren<br/> then kill abstraction, <br/> Spit at the ceiling of the Sistine chapel,<br/> Your audience is waiting... <br/> <br/> Eat brother, brother, brother<br/> brethren, graze on pesto freshly chopped<br/> and ground<br/> destroyed to powder, the walnut and cream cheese<br/> <br/> and a bit of something special.<br/> <br/> You shall wear black in the festival food fair<br/> the best biker shorts that tatoos can buy<br/> <br/> Slash the basil, Tony. Let's kick some Milwaukee ass.<br/> </p>MetaTagging and the 4o4 cloudtag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-03-14:5231298:BlogPost:369062012-03-14T09:56:41.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p>Hark, what lite through yonder Windows break,<br></br><br></br>It is the East, and her name is Juliet Capulet,<br></br><br></br>HTML! the rhyme, in what'sinhername!<br></br><br></br>Romeo, oh why was thy file not found,<br></br>escapeth the family confines,<br></br>of your well-to-do patrician Montagues,<br></br><br></br>O, heaviness, man, in linux,<br></br>and linux in heaviness,<br></br><br></br>Tybalt, prints off Macs, default is yours!<br></br>No, sire, you shall walk next to the wall<br></br>as I have right of way upon the bold hand…</p>
<p>Hark, what lite through yonder Windows break,<br/><br/>It is the East, and her name is Juliet Capulet,<br/><br/>HTML! the rhyme, in what'sinhername!<br/><br/>Romeo, oh why was thy file not found,<br/>escapeth the family confines,<br/>of your well-to-do patrician Montagues,<br/><br/>O, heaviness, man, in linux,<br/>and linux in heaviness,<br/><br/>Tybalt, prints off Macs, default is yours!<br/>No, sire, you shall walk next to the wall<br/>as I have right of way upon the bold hand of<br/>pricky midday.<br/><br/>The traffic of Venice today, is hard to imagine,<br/>that by fibre optic gondola, the smart boat for the <br/>nones, stout be thy courage, here drink this, it is Love<br/><br/>call the ambulance, Ooo, he is slain,<br/>he is slain, he is slain<br/><br/>how long do we have to wait, dial up, dial up, feet of clay!<br/><br/> and why?<br/><br/>The answer to that, not even Deus Ex Machina<br/>could lifeline supply. </p>How to outsmart rowdy French guystag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-02-23:5231298:BlogPost:355252012-02-23T02:58:25.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p>Get in hotter, louder and faster in French seguing to German, Spanish and English and Vietnamese and Lebanese<br/><br/>telling them<br/><br/>"I am an engineer, and I have made crepes oiseau"<br/><br/>Rev the engine, just like scary crazy guys at Eastern Creek<br/><br/>and have a heart, <br/><br/>because the party one has that night with the MacHeaths of Lille<br/><br/>are good times. </p>
<p>Get in hotter, louder and faster in French seguing to German, Spanish and English and Vietnamese and Lebanese<br/><br/>telling them<br/><br/>"I am an engineer, and I have made crepes oiseau"<br/><br/>Rev the engine, just like scary crazy guys at Eastern Creek<br/><br/>and have a heart, <br/><br/>because the party one has that night with the MacHeaths of Lille<br/><br/>are good times. </p>Making a bird wing with hammerstag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-02-17:5231298:BlogPost:347532012-02-17T03:00:00.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p>requires for the one with few tools</p>
<p>to be incredibly swift</p>
<p>and deft;</p>
<p>and static tears</p>
<p>in howling storms</p>
<p>for all the sparrows that have died.</p>
<p>requires for the one with few tools</p>
<p>to be incredibly swift</p>
<p>and deft;</p>
<p>and static tears</p>
<p>in howling storms</p>
<p>for all the sparrows that have died.</p>Facismtag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-02-17:5231298:BlogPost:346712012-02-17T03:00:00.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p>There was a face</p>
<p>visible in the landscape painting</p>
<p></p>
<p>that meant really</p>
<p>it's-all-weird<br></br> <br></br> Which is Ancient Greek translated into Modern English for<br></br>"everything is beautiful in its own way"<br></br> your frowning sounding board face<br></br> <br></br> the face that left an imprint on the mirror <br></br> in torrid delight kissing the Cheshire Cat<br></br> <br></br> the face of Orpheus bent<br></br> after many attempts of the brick walls<br></br> "between 9am-5pm No Understanding"…<br></br></p>
<p>There was a face</p>
<p>visible in the landscape painting</p>
<p></p>
<p>that meant really</p>
<p>it's-all-weird<br/> <br/> Which is Ancient Greek translated into Modern English for<br/>"everything is beautiful in its own way"<br/> your frowning sounding board face<br/> <br/> the face that left an imprint on the mirror <br/> in torrid delight kissing the Cheshire Cat<br/> <br/> the face of Orpheus bent<br/> after many attempts of the brick walls<br/> "between 9am-5pm No Understanding"<br/> <br/> the parking fine of the face<br/><br/> the peachface! peeled and juicy <br/> the warbling clock looks, from its cage at the back</p>
<p>of an office worker<br/> who is playing a video game after hours. </p>Millenialtag:www.sydneypoetry.com,2012-02-09:5231298:BlogPost:341312012-02-09T17:49:39.000ZAutoPiratehttp://www.sydneypoetry.com/profile/AutoPirate
<p>the heart's shortcomings<br></br>quietening to dark apparition<br></br><br></br>open the windows now<br></br>to hear a psithurism<br></br><br></br>that pets Our singular tortoise geography</p>
<p>with the seven swinging eyes.<br></br><br></br>The citadel ahead in the haze</p>
<p>was claimed by a tricoleur<br></br><br></br>on arrival it housed only a scavenger's romantic circle </p>
<p><br></br>suspended vocations on retaining walls</p>
<p>installed like paleolithic homeware paintings</p>
<p>that is, with the sense of homely…</p>
<p>the heart's shortcomings<br/>quietening to dark apparition<br/><br/>open the windows now<br/>to hear a psithurism<br/><br/>that pets Our singular tortoise geography</p>
<p>with the seven swinging eyes.<br/><br/>The citadel ahead in the haze</p>
<p>was claimed by a tricoleur<br/><br/>on arrival it housed only a scavenger's romantic circle </p>
<p><br/>suspended vocations on retaining walls</p>
<p>installed like paleolithic homeware paintings</p>
<p>that is, with the sense of homely love...<br/><br/></p>
<p>we got what we came for and we slept under a moving hide.<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p> </p>