PATERSON RIVER RISING

 

 

 

PATERSON RIVER RISING.

 

She is my river.

Not controlled.

Not tamed.

When will they learn she is nature.

Learn both her of her beauty and anger.

She is, and always will be.

Natures chaos in her best debutante dress.

 



MISTY MOUNTAINS

 

 

 

MISTY MOUNTAINS.

 

 

One does not just see the mist through the mountains.

One breathes it.

Feels the coolness upon the skin.

It penetrates the spirit within.

It carries you in flight into ones own self.

For a period you linger to discover your being.

Then disperse into the warmth you feel secure in.

Into the spirit of the Misty Mountains goes ones deepest thoughts.

 

 

 

 

 



EVENING AT PATERSON

 

 

EVENING AT PATERSON

 

Evening has past through Paterson.

The trees sigh lightly as the heat from the last rays of sunlight disappear.

A lone Plover stood in call to its mate, and upon its return took to wing in chase as if to chastise for its absents.

Egrets, as with the arrival at dawn, skimmed the ever changing  mirrored, shadowy river on return to roost.

Ducks had taken to flight, and flew in the direction of dawn to wait in anticipation of sunrise.

Lights on the horizon begin to appear giving some hint to civilisation.

All is grown silent from human encroachment.

 

The night comes alive.

Frogs begin to call, as do crickets.

A singular moth is drawn to the light through the kitchen window, and continues to brow-beat itself into insect counselling, in the fruitless attempt to die warm by the light that would be its killer.

 

 

There is nothing but ones soul now.

Yet there is everything.

From silhouettes of late birds in flight, to the stillness in the half darkness of the river that is still flowing with life.

To the stars that seem to beat in the night sky.

I feel I am home.

 

 



 

 

 

I STAND FOR NOW.

 

 

Upright.

Erect.

Without assistance.

There have been days of faulter.

Days of arising to the occasion and finding there is a stiffness where it should not be.

Or where one would hope it was.

 

I stand for now.

A lot better.

No longer afraid.

Embraced by death through the years.

Standing for now.

 

Did I stop for love?

 

OH YES.

I stumbled through it then.

I had a stiff upper lip when you were gone.

FOR GOOD.

And.

I became stiff without you.

 

I stand for now with a soft on of heart.

A stiffness of mind.

Yet as I age, a ache and stiffness.

It is yours.

Mine,

Others.

 

I

WE

Have stood.

Stand for now.



 

 

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.



STRENGTH FROM THE GRAVE...

We can never go back my friend,

never question why.

For when a loved on passes on,

we must carry ourself with pride.

No matter the pain we are feeling,

Remember their love that made us strong.

Put them where they have always been.

In your heart, where they belong.

Remember theirs smiles and happy times,

and times of sadness shared.

I guarantee its those times that mean,

You'll get through,

Because you cared



BURGMANN'S BOXING B.B.Q....

What is a bloke to do?

A Friday night round here.

Well you grab some Bourbon and motor off,

To Burgmann's Boxing B.B.Q.

Its held out back of the mechanics shed.

Mechanic mayhem is what it is.

Where burn-outs are done in a art-work Holden,

smoke and rubber swim round your head.

Snags and Bourbon and home made cookies

are consumed before each bout.

Then the boys they don the boxing gloves,

the Testosterone cheer rings out..

Knock his bloody block off,

and get in there ya mug.

All the time a rorkous laughter,

as they dance round in the grease and mud.

Yes there is grazes from kissing the ground,

at times a bloody nose.

Still its just the boys, having good clean fun,

No one really come to blows.

As night ends,

and I'm sure it does,

but I haven't seen it yet.

There is little movement the next day,

All that testosterone was well spent.

BURGMANNS BOXING B.B.Q.

yes the stories are all true.

I just wish I had a little less Bourbon,

and seen the night right through...



THE CONSTIPATED DOG..

Poor ol' dog was crouching there

pained expression on her face.

Ma was in the kitchen,

with a potion taking place.

This will fix that mongrel up,

mumbling as she stirred the brew.

Epsom salts, Cod liver oil, a Laxet or maybe two.

Well I would not be that poor ol' dog,

not for all the gold round here.

No sooner had she downed the stuff,

the shit it flowed like beer.

The paddocks looked like a Pro Hart canvas,

sprayed brown and running thick.

Then the dog she turned and spotted Ma,

and too the bush she headed quick.

Then Ma let out an evil cackle,

her potion had done the trick..



PATERSON V STOCKTON 03/06/2003

PATERSON v STOCKTON 2003.

Bloody hell mate, its Overseas,

a slab wont get us through.

Pack a keg and carton of fags,

Maybe some Burbon.

Ye mate that will do.

Shit mate its said their looney,

thats been said from way far back.

No brains and no dam feeling.

Their strange, this Stockton pack.

Now its the overseas that puts me off.

Still its my bloody team n all.

So lets suck some booze and kick their arse.

Then lets end it with a brawl....

ITGONDAWINDYDAY

Standing at the Servo, just the other day.

my mate called in as oft he does,

just to say gid-day.

soon our conversation turned to that bloody wind.

mind you it rattled rafters,

eve tore off sheets of tin.

Yep it blew his faithful Mare off heat

Twas the tale my mate he told.

Did it blow right up her arse then mate?

The retort from a local old.

Well we laughed and laughed.

Still laughing now,

about that poor ol Grey.

The day she stood and lost her heat.

ITGONDAWINDYDAY.....

MY LOVER. MY SEASONS

The leaves are gone now..

Your once boa like green that draped you,

a skeletal remain of branches and twigs.

You stand still in a new season before me.

So still.

So beautiful as ever.

Like a lover who has died and the melancholy that has set in,

takes me back to who you once were.

My ever present companion that soothes my soul...



SPIRIT DREAMING

Lifting from the river in a gossamer weave the fog come in,

whilst the moon shines in all her majesty,

bushed ever so gently by a passing cloud that shadows the land briefly.

Silhouetted against this back drop, trees that have stood witness to the rivers changing moods.

Paddocks sculptured by man and time.

One wonders of what the SPIRIT DREAMS.

The weave grows thicker and encases the hill,

yet as quickly as it does cascades away and rolls across the pastures.

One can almost hear it whisper to the soul.

One can almost feel this SPIRIT DREAMING.

Sounds fill the body in restful tones,

thoughts become as lazy as the night itself.

One watches as for the first time at the wonders that stand.

Dressing and undressing before eyes and spirits that once were..

Spirits that once rested upon the land and in a time of

SPIRITS DREAMING.