STARDUST

STARDUST

Please don't shed a tear, for while I have gone, I am still here.

The atoms that once made me are now reborn,

As rays of golden light for a brand-new dawn.

I live on in the eternal dust of the stars,

And who know, I may have managed to land on Mars.

But no matter where I end up, know that I am near,

For death is just another place, and it holds no fear.

I will accompany you on walks amid the trees,

I'll be the gentle touch of a cooling summer breeze.

Should you ever find yourself alone at night,

Just look to the heavens, third star on the right.

And while I now lay beyond your mortal touch,

Know I will never leave you; I simply love you too much.

Reader Discretion Advised - mature content relating to depression and suicide

MISERY IS MY MISTRESS

Misery is my mistress

Wraps me in her loving embrace

Sheltering me from the light

For me alone she waits.

She's always with me

At my side by day and by night

Her hypnotic voice a beckoning

The darkest thoughts she does invite.

She loves me unconditionally

When others wouldn't ever dare

Whispering her haunting melody

An unspoken desperate prayer.

Won't let the light betray me

Or bring me any false dawns

Neath a comforting cloak of gloom

A crown of bloody thorns.

Prying eyes cannot see me

None know my pending doom

Safe in the peace of blackness

A blessed end is coming soon.

Yeah, Misery is my mistress

I cannot deny her charms

Drawing me in ever closer

Safe in her deadly, loving arms.

Floating on a tormenting mistral

Falling and tumbling without a care

My chapter is finally closing

Her grief is mine alone to bear.

Sinking beneath the surface

Gone now without a trace

Unnoticed and forgotten

I have finally found my place.

Attempting to understand the black dog and empathising with those being chased by it.

Saddest Little Corner of the World

 THE SADDEST LITTLE CORNER

OF THE WORLD.

Sprays of blooms promise cheer
Shading trees cast shadows of tranquility across manicured lawns
Tiny windmills whirl in a riot of colours
Dappled light dancing across spinning vanes
It's the saddest little corner of the world.

So many little children, but not a one at play
Teddys, dolls, and toys sit idle, waiting
Elves, nymphs and woodland creatures stand guard and bear silent witness
It's the saddest little corner of the world.

Be it rain, shine, tempest or blistering heat, visitors are seldom deterred
Regularly they come and then go with solemn vows to return soon
Soon soon turns to often
Often often turns to sometimes
Sometimes always leads to hardly ever, or never
It's the saddest little corner of the world.

You'll find one in just about every city and small town, hiding in plain sight
Most people will rarely ever notice it and let us hope they never will
For once they do, its sadness will remain forever etched upon their hearts
As resolute and immoveable as the brass plaques lying in neat rows
It's the saddest little corner of the world.

In memory of Mitchell Rickard, July 18, 1997.

A Puntastic Tribute

30 YEARS OF ROCKING THE BOAT.

It's a Motley Crue that gathers to set sail on a Cruel Sea.

As an Audioslave everyone is part of The Cult, so they all get on.

But The Clash is inevitable and there can be Joy Division between Jet and The B52's.

It's hardly Kiss and make-up, but it's not all Social Distortion either.

Although you can never discount a little Rage Against the Machine.  

Iggy Pop isn't one of the Stooges, but he gets on well with everyone including Ian Dury and The Blockheads.

It's rare, but there has been a bit of Machine Gun Fellatio, even though John Lee is the only Hooker ever on board.

Surprisingly there is little friction on Black Sabbath between The Saints, The Angels and Judas Priest, so who says there's Faith No More?

When the skipper pulls up the Silverchair and takes the wheel, we head somewhere over the Rainbow to Nirvana.

The banter flies around like a Bullet for My Valentine shot from Sex Pistols and Velvet Revolver, but The Who knows the lame jokes and occasional Cheap Trick go down like a Led Zeppelin.

Among the Screaming Trees, there's likely to be Them Crooked Vultures, the occasional Def Leppard and certainly plenty of Scorpions, but never, ever a Flock of Seagulls.

Nick Cave seldom makes an appearance, but when he does the Bad Seeds will be there too.

And, if they come up against the Beastie Boys, the Pogues and the Gang of Four, look out.

It'll be mayhem with Slayer, The Stranglers and the Foo Fighters joining in.

There could be Dead Kennedys and undoubtedly, there will be Royal Blood but the Police are yet to be called upon.

Speaking of royalty, Queen always makes an appearance, but don't count on any Prince.

When the sun sets Deep Purple with barely a hint of Pink Floyd, it's not long before Black Flag falls, then we've been known to burn the Midnight Oil.

The nights can get pretty wild with Alice in Chains and Iron Maiden being fed Spiderbait and Anthrax while getting hammered with Nine Inch Nails.

When the sun rises the breakfast choices range from The Jam, Black Stone Cherry, Red Hot Chili Peppers, maybe a handful of Eminem's and even Lamb of God, but surely not Pearl Jam?

Time to cast off, so we Slipknot, rev up the Motorhead and head home.

Until next year.

1991 - 2021

A pun-laden tribute to a bunch of heavy rock loving mates I'm fortunate enough to go on an annual houseboat trip with - 24 blokes, 50 slabs of beer, 50 kilos of meat and a tomato.

Book extract

 

AVRON

        No sooner had they arrived at the compound, all hell broke loose. From the first eerie whistle of an incoming shell Exor began barking orders.

        "Defensive positions!  Enemy to the west.  Take cover!"

        Before Avron's terrified mind figured out which direction west was, boom!  It was too late.  Hesitation is what gets people killed and she had hesitated.

        The ground shook so hard the vibrations knocked her off her feet.  The pulsating shockwaves and incessant ringing in her ears completely disoriented her and a wave of nausea overwhelmed her.  In a distorted space between reality and unconsciousness, she felt as though everything was moving in slow motion.  Unable to discern any specific sound from the muffled cacophony around her, she found it impossible to force her body to stand.

    On her hands and knees, still uncertain of which way was up, she gripped the wet soil, trying to hang on to her spinning world.  Fragments of colour danced in front of her tightly closed eyes.  Slowly she became more aware of her surroundings and the ringing in her ears sharpened and intensified.  She wasn't dead.  At least she didn't think so.

        Avron was at the bottom of a crater and could feel small, hard objects raining down on her, bouncing off her helmet and ballistic vest.  Her face, leggings and gloves were wet.

        Eventually she began to regain a semblance of composure and slowly, through gritted teeth, sucked air into her aching lungs as the sounds above her began to sharpen.  The crack of gunfire and explosions.  High pitched hysterical screams punctuating the muffled, pitiful groans of the injured.

        She opened her eyes.  At first everything was enveloped in a reddish haze, but soon she began to see more clearly and wished she hadn't.  Pieces of flesh, some with scorched scraps of clothing still attached were scattered about her.

        A hot spume of vomit erupted from her mouth as her stomach heaved and convulsed.

        "Get the fuck out of that hole now Vetsis!"

        Framed by swirling smoke was the face of Commander Exor glaring down at her.  Legs quivering, she got unsteadily to her feet and scrambled up the crater slope to the rim.  Exor grabbed the strap of her vest and hauled her out, dragging her behind what remained of a charred wall.

        Avron looked about in wide-eyed horror.  Smoke hung over the churned ground strewn with rubble, glowing pieces of metal and indistinguishable body parts. 

        The knees of her uniform and her gloves were caked in a gory mixture of blood, mud and bile.  She looked at her trembling legs and could see where the supposedly indestructible terrabium-fibre leggings had been ripped apart to expose a deep gash.  Wondering why she felt no pain she tentatively reached out a shaky hand to touch the wound only to discover it was a large piece of someone else's flesh stuck to her thigh.

        Avron Vetsis began to scream.

An extract from my yet to be completed novel, The Blight.

Pewsey Vale

 Before we crush their flesh,
we crush their spirit.

Eager young grapes emerge on the closely planted vines of Pewsey Vale, hopes high of becoming succulent riesling grapes.

For most of course, this is a distant dream.

Indeed, what lies ahead is a nightmare for many.

They expect lives filled with sunny days and refreshing rain.

Foolish, foolish grapes.

Sun-starved days and bone-chillingly cold nights are their lot in life.

And the wretched few drops of water to occasionally fall from the skies could barely be described as rain.

Add to this torment, the nutrient starved and ghastly named yellow podzolic soil.

Oh, and let's not forget the unbearably icy frosts that are all too regular at an altitude of four hundred metres. (What sadistic sense of humour named this place Eden Valley?)

But there is a faint glimmer of hope for the hardiest of the vintage. A few survive to become strong and juice-laden grapes worthy of bearing the name Pewsey Vale.

Naturally, once they have achieved such greatness, we crush every last drop of goodness out of them.

After swapping QuarkXPress for Microsoft Word, this was one of the first ads I ever wrote and was fortunate enough to be judged Best Copywriting in Australia at the Caxton Awards.

Cicadas of Rock

 

CICADAS OF ROCK

It was the likes of Daltrey, Holder, Coverdale, Dickinson, Gillan, Ozzy and Lemmy who introduced them to me, and once we met, we were never to part.

A mobile orchestra tirelessly working day and night.

From the moment I wake until sleep consumes me.

Countless critters chirping their tuneless little ditty.

A non-musical score that has become the backing track of my life.

They say silence is golden, but I wouldn't know.

Though I once thought the Simon & Garfunkel classic was written just for me.

For the tinnitus sufferers.