NO ACCOUNTING FOR TASTE

h (looking at photograph on book cover):
who are these people daddy?
f: that's the beatles
h: beetles! they're not beetles - they're people
f: beatles with an 'a', not insect beetles
h: who are they daddy?
f: they were a group of musicians who changed the world
h: do you like them daddy?
f: i think they're the best group ever!
h: they all look the same!
are they all brothers?
f: ha ha ha!
you mean 'were they?' - two of them are dead now
h: why?
f: well one of them was shot and the other died of an illness
it's very sad that they're not alive any more
h: were they brothers?
f: no they all have similar haircuts in the picture
but they weren't from the same family
h: what are their names?
f: well this one's john
like uncle john
he always has his chin up in the air like that
and looks at you down his nose
with his eyes half-closed
he's always pulling silly faces
then quickly wiping them off again
and he's very sarcastic
(do you remember i taught you that word the other day?)
h: yes, and who's this one daddy?
f: that's paul
h: he looks a bit like a girl doesn't he
f: well he's got quite a pretty face
and big wide-open eyes with raised eyebrows
he's the stylish one
he always has an innocent but cheeky look on his face
and he looks like he's about to jump up at any moment
he doesn't really walk - he skips
just like you when you go to school!
h: what about this one?
f: that's george
george has got a crooked smile
but he looks quite serious doesn't he
i think it's cos his eyebrows get thicker as they reach his nose
he doesn't usually look at the camera
cos he's a bit shy
h: that one looks funny!
f: yeah
that's ringo!
he's got a bit of a goofy face hasn't he
with his big nose and sad eyes
h: well i think he's cute
he's my favourite!

PARALLEL LIVES

fireseed has made his bed
now he must lie in it
and quit grumbling
home in his spare room
he reverts to pipe n slippers man
without a pipe or slippers
a radiator instead of a roaring hearth
typing out his mono log
while his loved ones sweetly sleep
and do not stir
out there
many miles away from this cosy scene
across the breathless globe
gazillions of different human scenarios play themselves out
tales of comedy and tragedy
hilarity and depravity
sweet serendipity and bitter irony
in the dark heart of africa
savage acts of gruesome and unspeakable brutality
are unleashed like a wild and angry storm
the product of longstanding injustice and grudge
piled upon poverty and emnity
elsewhere unbearable tragedies unfold
the last breath of a child cradled in its mother's arms
in some cholera-infested badland
the assassination of a union rep
due to testify at the hands of a government-sponsored death squad
a child soldier is kidnapped
then plied with drugs to keep him compliant
meanwhile life goes on
the masses endure the daily grind
then seek their pleasures and their kicks
among the bright lights and dark alleyways
festering in damp sordid bedsits
or living it large in draughty country piles
at venice beach
the musclebound hunks and cosmetic babes flaunt their airbrushed charms
in the brisa de la palma a teenage rasputin takes the sting from a gin
six foot four trannies totter along the streets of sydney
brandishing a stray high heel or two
a wooden fishing boat bobs and creaks under the stars
in a tiny timorese harbour
a naive young man sings to the moon
and aches for his sweetheart across the the city
a gang of crumpled corporate whores crash some fleshpot in bangkok
where the hostesses do weird tricks with pingpong balls
a young monk gazes out serenely across a himalayan panorama
a lifer whistles as he completes his hundredth press-up in his sing sing cell
a wild-eyed indian ascetic smears his body with saffron
a jaded factory filipina grabs another circuitboard from a conveyor belt
a faded movie star takes an overdose of sleeping pills
and collapses on the couch
an east london gangster heads ruefully for murder mile
a camel train threads its way slowly across the desert
a mountain porter pauses to rest his load of tourist grog on a broad rock
in a basque bedroom where the music mixes with the smoke
a middle-aged woman sobs as she exhales a joint
an angry ambulance driver curses another hoax call out
in a bland malaysian suburb a woman betrays her lover
for a casual fling with a stranger
musak fills the lift as it heads for the fortieth floor
the pipe slowly burns out
the slippers cool
and the grass?
who said it was greener?

RENAISSANCE MAN

fireseed alone at a nonnymouse desk in a quiet office
working on n on after hours
pondering the news
the others left a while ago
the computers and electronic devices buzz around him
hum hum hum
electromagnetic fields enmesh and entangle
tiny invisible electrons n photons n whatnotrons
bombard each other
phut phut phut
they rebound harmlessly off fireseed's brown corduroy jacket
(hopefully)
or perhaps they play havoc with his internal organs
even as he typos
on the other side of the windowpane
the rush-hour crush travels home to bed
disembodied pairs of headlights
slicing through the drizzly darkness
the tiny goldcrest that buzzed around in the fir tree
now long gone
i know i've written it before
nothing ever stands still
life throws ya a curveball and you take a swing
maybe you hit, maybe you miss
one door opens and another slams shut
suddenly a new door bursts open
the right time and the right place coincide
or spectacularly fail to connect
fireseed called into director's office
fireseed told he not wanted any more after christmas
two days a week aint sufficient commitment
well so much for that job sharing malarkey
but bring it on i say!
fireseed already art director at echo centre
and producer
and screenwriter
and marketing man
(ok i claim a co-credit)
fireseed churning out the ditties as if his life depended on it
(perhaps it does)
now maybe it's time ya fave blogger branched out into something else
acting?
life modelling?
i hear male escorts are doing a roaring trade these daze
i mount my steed and head out into the fray...

ps: don't ya bother yourself with that other blog any more
what's the stupid thing called again?
oh yeah
that 'fart of living' nonsense
nah
keep your nose to the ground
stay where it's really at
'the all seeing i' rules!
okay?
okay

CLAUSTROPHOBIA

white grapes withered on the vine
a lined face grown old before its time
and the bogeyman's coming to get ya
or is it old father time?
claustrophobia

pain twisting like a knife
a dark stain blotting out the light
and the doctor's got no antidote
and the nurse has lost your file
claustrophobia

crying like a baby from the depths of its lungs
weeping like the women when the soldiers come
hiding like a fugitive who's always on the run
claustrophobia

shame hunts you like a wolf
in vain clinging to your youth
and the walls are closing in on you
till you got no room to move
claustrophobia

smothered with a blanket till your lungs collapse
hanted by your demons in their latest attack
surrounded by the enemy
cornered by the pack
claustrophobia

hounded by the journos with their cameras and mikes
cheated by the lawyers with their well-crafted lies
evicted by the bailiffs
surveillanced by the spies
claustrophobia