TIRED.

 

 

Yes I am tired.

Not sleepy.

Not in need of shut eye.

Not even from the toil of work.

Just tired of heart.

 

Blessed of life.

Cursed of loss.

 

You should be here.

You should be laughing with me.

With us, our friends.

You should be here in every line that we etch in our foreheads.

In every tooth missing and denture glued in.

You should  be here to bitch about it was happening to you.

The wrinkles.

The dentures.

Or at least gained another wrinkle from the laughter that it didn't happen to you but someone else.

Gee.

 how tired I am because of missing you.

How blessed of life of knowing you.

How cursed that we can not bitch together at someone else.

Each other.

And know of ageing.

Together.

SO TIRED.

I WALK NOT ALONE.

There is a memory in every footstep I have taken.

From my first interment encounter with a male.

My first indentation in the sticky carpet in the Star Hotel.

My first encounter with my brother Shane.

My first.

Life long journey into family.

I have set foot in the past.

Walked through a sunrise and sunset into an unknown future.

I have not done so without the indentations of my footsteps and others upon my heart.

AGAIN.

As I travel in the first footsteps of my time.

Our footsteps shall meet.

A nexus of novocastrains.

Walked not in others footsteps but our own.

Those that have past and those present by our side.

This is what......

Lost Gay Newcastle.

Means to me.



NOVOCASTRIAN GAY

There is nothing greater that binds us.

Makes us NOVOCASTRIAN GAYS.

The memories recalled are endless,

walked through every day.

Personal.

Group.

Community.

They are held within our hearts,

in the music, hairdo and fashion in its way.

The LOVE

The LAUGHTER

The LOSS.

The LIFE.

The NEXUS of the NOVOCASTRIAN GAY



A NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

Out the night of Christmas eve,

seeking Santa I did roam.

To look in to his sack of special thing,

for a pressy to make me groan.

Every place I was to look,

where Santa should have been.

I smiled with joy. At the toys,

Oh what a lovely sceene

Soon the last place on my list,

where I hoped my pressies were.

I saw Santa on the roof above.

In leather, whips and spurs.

So I grabed my keys and marauding,

rushed through my front door.

With one great slide I landed,

under the tree, butt naked and all.

So I lay there in glee,

as he entered me.

The smell of leather hot on his bod.

With a hohoho off we will go.

Came the cheer from the hung happy sod.

In such hours of fun,

till up came the sun.

To shine in and light up his butt.

With our bodies still wet,

from the leather and sweat.

He exploded again in my gut.

MEGGA MARIE

Move out of the way Stella,

and you to Glenda dear.

Channel as well I shall tell.

 Marie has now appeared.

To Bubbles of such comic claim,

Trudy you as well.

Move right over and off the stage,

Marie is here and don't she look swell.

The years it took to refine this look.

Such grandeur stands right here,

And the papers will tell of the crowds that yelled,

as Marie took to drag that year.

At the DIVA AWARDS,

to a stupendous applause.

She came first as she knew she would.

Other drags would say.

Do you know Marie by the way.

Well if you don't.

Then you should.

So without further ado,

she said to-da-loo.

Her car was waiting you see.

She puckered her look,

as off she was took.

To the palace, to the Queen and High Tea.



ON HEAT IN THE KITCHEN

You have whirled me round this great big town,

a KING is what you be.

Around the world a Hundred ways,

Think Pink upon your sleeves.

With spatula and whisk in hand,

you beat upon the eggs.

Of what lust goes on in your mind,

I'm sure not a lettuce bed.

You jet-set hither, to and throw.

Across this vast great land.

Just to help the humble housewife,

hold on to her man.

Just what kitchen would be complete,

if it was not for your books.

And some of us do it naked.

oh..maybe an apron just for looks.

So whisk away and keep it up.

The cooking if you please.

I am sure that food is not the only way.

To bring a man down to his knees.



THE QUILT

So quiet is my life now.

The laughter and fun seems lost.

In memories I hear them sing.

Some cheer.

Some tears.

All are not forgotten.

A song may remind me.

Or something on the supermarket shelf.

Maybe a brand of wine or bear.

You always show up somewhere.

The quilt of remembrance grows.

So to the candle light nights.

To me.

The candle flame is in my heart,

it burns eternal.

The love we shared is the quilt that warms me still.

I will love you and miss you my friend.

SYDNEY GAY MECCA

Does anyone remember,

Tea parties, King Edward Park.

Or late night suppers after the Star,

At Pedros. What a lark.

Then came the days of Romeo ways,

with the terrace up the back.

That the Lorraine clan found and marked their ground.

And many a staff by Karren was sacked.

So the days go on,

with some of us gone,

But like these place we will remember.

Of the fun that they gave,

friends on the way.

Before the SYDNEY GAY MECCA.



WE CELEBRATE FOR YOU

The birds voices are still this morning.

The tree and their leaves hang wilting,

so to do the flowers bow their heads.

So still as you.

Save not my tears can bring them life,

nor life to you.

So still you be.

So at peace you seem.

Such noise now fills the morning.

Of satire and sympathy do your friends come.

Of support and love do they share.

The house now fills again.

Our memorries of your wit and laughter fill everything with life.

How still you lay there.

How alive in our hearts.

WE CELEBRATE FOR YOU.