[ 2022 and fading ]
Fading fading fading. Like his peers around him. Hardly a week goes by and someone he knows that's about his age falls off the perch or at least starts talking about things that are never going to end well. He blames it on the Plague, but really? - it's just his time. His time, and their time, to fade. Had to happen sooner or later. The Plague has disrupted all of his sacred blessed routines, and unassociated bits needing some remedial patching and stitching didn't help. But he's simply starting to feel his age. And the first thing to go has been his vitality. Not the jump-y write-y stuff in his head, that's ticking along okay enough, but his muscles and bones aren't keeping up. Or that other thing. His psyche? Call it that anyway. The V8 dual-Stromberg hi-lift cam engine that used to make him want to explore everything. Go places. Make fire. Look under rocks. Lay rubber. Now he's a pretty content half of a long term Darby & Joan but struggles to even break in a new cafe. Which is a bit pathetic. No idea what he's going to stick in here. Guess we need to be thankful that it's something. (Get your shit together you dimwit!)
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STANDING, UNCLOTHED
Hey!
old man in the mirror
are you really me?
skin like a fallowed paddock
saggy baggy mottled
scales scars liverwarts
assorted other decorations of Time
eyes gone the colour of wheatbelt dirt
jowels a little sunken
ear hair sprouts everywhere
tangle of eyebrows
has it really come to this?
old man in the mirror
am I really you?
and what will I see
if - at my peril - I step back
ohmygod mygod
skinny legs skinny arms
thin wristed no bum
one dodgy knee
and then those weathered nether bits
are you bloody kidding me?
old man in the mirror
more importantly…
am I even still in there?
that bird of youth that was me
that overconfident slightly arrogant
cluster of hormones
with his curiosity and his heart
head full of engines
wheels cogs gears ever on the turn
restless to be going
going to where the words are
and is there still some fuel in the tank?
old man in the mirror
is this some joke?
if it is
I’m not laughing
(but I know I should be)
so, all I can ask is…
are you - old man - the price I had to pay
for this godalmighty adventure
for this once-in-a-universe journey
and for the gaining of some wisdom?
© T.R.E. 2022
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LONG WHITE CLOUD
I woke up this morning
(always a good start)
and found I had
a perfect map of New Zealand
(lamb chop and rasher of bacon)
on my arm
all done in lovely port-wine hues
(where do these things come from?)
actually it looks kinda cool
rather think I’ll be sad to see
this one fade
as they do
(thank god)
as mostly these splotches
just make you look…
old
worn out
and I’m not
not yet
©
T.R.E. 2022
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SOME MORNINGS
some mornings
you fear that The Ghost is dead
okay, not dead so much as…
absent
on leave
buggered off
gone somewhere more stimulating
than my head
so, what do we do about it old son?
other than…
stagnate
whine
maudle
roll about in the sense of loss
like a pig in mud
tell you what you do…
you stop
you read
read something great
great as in heartsome
heartsome and handsome
their Ghost in action
alive and kicking
raising dust and cockeychaff
and memories
and rumbling in the sky like the
god it is
© T.R.E. 2022
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IN ENGLAND SOMEWHERE
There’s a place in England somewhere
a village beside a road and a stream
a small village as villages go
maybe huddled and straggled against the hip
of something called Mellingape Tor
and probably in Dorset or Devon
with woods nearby, and green fields
moors just over the horizon
not far from the coast
so the smell of the ocean
sometimes touches the houses and the people
and they hear the croddle-crattle
of the backwash on the shingle
when the wind is from the southwest
But you can’t live in that place somewhere in England
incomers can’t, even emigrants can’t
and surely not weathered expats
born and raised on wheat and dirt
it’s just too damn faraway faraway
that place somewhere in England
it’s only for escaping to
when...
© T.R.E. 2022
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CROOKED
I ask you
how can it be
that a man
(a reasonably observant man)
can get to Old Age
(or thereabouts)
and not notice
that his ears are on crooked?
© T.R.E. 2022
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MORNING WALK
seven am early winter
from the north a cold breeze
a desert breeze, down from Alice
Springs
no sun yet maybe not at all today
just a streaky sky
done in short-life parrot pinks and
old straw
underfoot the last of autumn’s
leaves
crabapple leaves the colour of
mango
and deep russets like patina on old
copper
a solitary magpie lifts her head
high
belts out her black and white
rendition
of what we’re both feeling
great day in the morning
© T.R.E. 2022
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KERRY ON MY MIND
sunday morning six-thirty
coastal mist hangs in stilled air
street lights smeary eyes
behind ghosts of norfolk pines
that loom large at every hand
long lazy rollers breaking whop
whop
whissshh-hah of the backwash
air muted like when it snows
for some reason it makes me think
of Kerry
Kerry and West Cork
my other home
and the mystery of why that is
but here … this moment
as spirit-moving as it is
something is missing
it’s the smell of the peat-smoke
peat-smoke and … and … what?
that piece you can never … quite …
grasp?
© T.R.E. 2022
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THE CROSSING
on my own
on foot
crossing Anzac Highway
three lanes this side three the
other
big median strip in the middle
what could be easier
there’s one car coming down the fast
lane
and quite a tsunami some way back
(but not all that far back)
doing a fast getaway from the lights
like Aryton Senna on steroids
so, what’s to judge here – I mean –
for a bloke still with all his
faculties?
- the velocity of the solitary car
- how far away it is
- where will it be when I’ve carefully
and mindfully
crossed two (temporarily) empty lanes
while allowing her to pass
as you do
yep, a piece of piss in any language
as long as everyone does the
rational
and the expected
nup, she decides this decrepit old
fart
can NOT be trusted to cross the
fucking road
without her patronising assistance
(dead set sure I’m incapable of
basic timing)
so she pulls up
PULLS BLOODY UP!
IN THE FAST LANE!
tsunami of drivers bearing down
all late for something damn
important
lady you must be outa ya mind
momentarily dumb struck
gather my incredulous and scrabby
thoughts
duck across in front of her
with as much aplomb as possible
but with mouth now working
ungraciously
and NOT saying - thank you madam
so, I ask you, was I most pissed
at her driving stupidity
or the fact that she thinks I look
SO old
that I need special care?!
the jury is still out
(but I know the verdict)
© T.R.E. 2022
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A DREAM
a hooded figure like a monk
robe head to toe
coming after me
frightened at first
especially when he came right up to
me
but then I was lying on the ground
and the monk (Death) laid on top of
me
trying to completely envelop me
but when he did that I started to
laugh
because the robe was empty
hollow
and I said - “You don’t have any
bones”
and kept laughing
then I woke up
© T.R.E. 2020
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