Friday, March 21, 2008

Three themed poems by George Anderson

Three poems
by George Anderson
Theme: Human Frailty

The Drunkard

Apologises to Lord Tennyson

He clasps the bottle with crook hands
Close to the bar in seedy lands
Cloaked in vomit, he stands

The filthy urinal beneath him crawls
He watches the swaying walls
And like a thunderbolt he falls


Clement Smith

If you are ever in Broken Hill
make sure you call into the
East Darling Motor Hotel
and ask for Clem. If you’re
shy, just sit back and enjoy a
drink- sooner or later he will
approach you and after five
minutes of trivial conversation
about the real estate boom in
the town (his mate from Sydney
recently purchased fifty properties
in one go) he will tell you he loves
you (but not in a sexual way) and
if anyone comes through the front
door of the pub he will gladly fling
himself in front of any bullet to save
you. “I am not bull shitting,” he will
tell you. “I will do it!” As you scratch
your head and down your poison of
choice don’t try to work the bloke
out. He is off the register. Just sit tall
and sceptical on the high metal chairs
and listen to Clem. Keep a mental note
of what he has to say. He will surely
begin1 of his conversations by explaining
how he became a Zen Buddhist on his
fifth birthday ( I have heard the story
several dozen times). How before this
monumental event he used to ask
questions about everything: What was
Time? Was Time real? Etc. How he felt a
surge of energy flow into him as a balloon
was handed to him. He just knew at that
moment that he didn’t have to ask anymore
questions. He knew fully for the first time
that time was not real. Clem will also tell you
how his local Catholic school saw him as a rebel.
How he didn’t want to conform. How he stopped
counting the canings after 5000. How the canings
made him stronger. How this was part of the Scottish
makeup. As he continues, I tell him I understand
why the locals had earlier wanted to run him out
of town. In response, he pursues a series of crazy
movements explains how he studied martial arts for
several years- how he will only block blows and not
strike out as he knows the damage he can cause.
If you are still there after ten minutes Clem will
tell you he lost his virginity at 37, how he’s had
five women since and how he is really not impressed.
“They are all over the place”. He reckons he is more
constant. When his mother died he felt nothing.
He will deny he likes men better. If you have heard
enough down your drink and pretend you have to split.


On a Tour Bus in Europe

What escalated costs for us this time was the cats had to be boarded. They fretted when we went to Vanuatu. Now they have their own room with a TV and individual
playtime with qualified staff for an hour each day. Thomas is getting on and he really needs the attention. $1500 to you might seem a lot but it has brought peace of mine to Robin & I.

I’m the first to admit I’m a slob. I guess I’m burnt out. I’ve been in the industry for eighteen years and you certainly get traveled out. I’m more of a researcher. I’ve done this tour four times already this year. It’s new. I’ve designed it myself. I’m just trying to iron out any problems. I’m looking forward to returning to Perth.

A bloke has to notice my shoes before he can attract my attention. I put heaps of effort in selecting the right footwear. I suppose it’s a sexual fetish. I really love my feet to be rubbed. It really turns me on. I don’t know whether it has anything to do with my Philippino background.

This is our first time back to Italy in thirty-seven years. I work as street cleaner for Melbourne Council. They have the same machine in Rome. I can’t come back to live. My children are Australian. They wouldn’t want to come here. They no speak Italian.

Bob is full of shit. If I had a daughter I wouldn’t be impressed if she brought home a tour guide. What low-life! They’re worse than second hand car salesmen.

Whenever I need money all I have to do is ring dad and he helps me out. I want to travel to Spain next and then America and my dad says no worries. I use my Visa card all the time- for meals, small purchases- anything. I plan to work for the family business when I return to Adelaide. Went to a topless bar the other day in Interlaken.
The women had enormous breasts and small waists. Dad reckons I could get a job there.

Yeah, I own a small jet for recreational purposes. We were in Paris today and Jenny couldn’t make up her mind which diamond necklace she liked best so I bought her both.

I wonder if Puccini died of a tobacco related disease. Here you can smoke on trains, in restaurants, in lifts- in fact, Rome is one big fucken cigarette butt.

Author bio:

George Anderson grew up in Montreal and now lives in Wollongong, Australia. He has published widely in mainstream and alternative magazines over the last five years. In early 2008 you will find more of his work on Cerebral Catalyst, Lit Chaos, Yellow Mama, Red Fez, Literary Tonic, My Favorite Bullet, Lost Beat Poetry, Hecale & others. George edits the student poetry journal Ephemeral now in its fifth print edition.

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