God Must Love Larrikins

God must love larrikins.

He calls them home early

to be with Him.

Warnie, of course. the King of Spin

and some years earlier,

The Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin.

No one saw that coming.

Least of all, him.

A stingray!

A creature from the black lagoon!

Too soon. Too soon. Taken.

And Paul Walker, my favourite,

who taught me to live

fast and furious.

God took him too.

But the dictators and tyrants

are allowed to linger,

grow putrid..

If only He loved them a little more.

  • pic courtesy of Pinterest by Kobe eReader

Like Gustav

Which one is he, I say of the quartet by the river. Which one is Klimt?

Oh, he’s the one with the kaftan. He always wore one in public.

And I think, maybe that’s the answer, maybe if I wore a kaftan

everywhere I go people might take more notice, might say,

o, that’s the famous poet, he has a new book coming out.

And I could promenade along the jetty, frequent the famous kiosk

where all the trendy people go; and maybe go the full monty like Gustav

beneath his kaftan painting in his studio so he’d feel less constricted;

maybe that’d do the trick, maybe that’d free my poetry up

Seek and Ye Shall Find?

.

I’d been looking for a career back in the late sixties but it found me.

I went looking for God for a few years in the early seventies but found what I really wanted was to have kids so God went out the window.

I had another shot at finding God or Transcendence a little later on but ended up in a cult so I had to get out but I found Rhonda who was very spiritual and inspirational. I used to say to her, ‘Help Me Rhonda’ and she would smile and help me anyway.

For a few years from 2010 everyone went looking for Bin Laden. I would track all over the streets of Adelaide because Adelaide would be a perfect place to hide. I mean who would think of looking for him there?

Then I went looking for Milton but I found him.

I know a journalist who was sent to write an article for a top American magazine on J D Salinger who proved elusive as God but he wrote the article anyway on NOT finding J D Salinger and still got it published.

Lately I’ve been searching for Equanimity but that’s harder to find, except in snatches, as Bin Laden or J D Salinger.

In Which We Become Two Famous Men

We hadn’t seen each other since Covid began and had forgotten each other’s names.

It was at the gym and the pulsating music upstairs during a class made hearing difficult.

Martin, he said.

Pardon?

Martin as in Martin Luther King.

Ah. I’m John.

Pardon?.

John as in John the Baptist.

Ahh, he said.

We shook hands and had a brief chat over the music.

Henceforth when we saw each other, especially after a long time, I’d remember him as Martin Luther King and he’d remember me as the preacher who baptised sinners in the river Jordan.

*which famous person first comes to mind when you say your first name?

That’s My Problem

I don’t look odd enough.

That’s my problem.

I’m a little too symmetrical.

Take Tom Cruise, for instance.

I read an article once that suggested that his charisma comes

from his asymmetric face.

I do have one pupil not quite in alignment with the other when I look down a little.

But that’s it.

And anyway no one notices.

I’m showing signs of age but that’s not oddness.

I do have a scar on my left cheek which hints at a seedy past — a knife fight perhaps —– which I’m happy to go with — but sadly it’s only where a skin cancer was cut out.

I’m sure if I looked odder

I’d be in more demand.

It’s just my luck to be born symmetrical and boring.

*pic courtesy of Wiki Commons

The Next Big Thing

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I saw the sign out the front, I say. I was intrigued. So who are you?

I’m The Next Big Thing, he says.

Can I get your autograph then?

That’ll be five dollars thank you.

Five bucks?!

John Travolta charges 200 for his.

But he’s someone.

Did you read the sign?

Yes.

Well, I’m The Next Big Thing. You’re getting it cheap. When I hit the big time ….

Okay, I say, I see your point, handing over my five bucks.

Pre- Post Malone

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What’s your name?

Malone.

Really? You’re famous.

Bugsy, I suggest? Dorothy, the film star? John Malone, the media magnate?

Never heard of them. No.None of those, she says. Post Malone.

Who?

The rapper.

What a stupid name.Never heard of him.

You should check him out. He’s on You Tube. He’s a real cool guy.

So I do. She’s right. Now I play him all the time. My namesake. How cool to share your name with a famous rapper.