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Dear Tony Abbott

This poem contains some profanity and adult themes. Additionally, a video of the poem being read aloud can be found here: http://youtu.be/rbmlxhJHwHQ

You may be the minister of our country,
but I never had you elected, and you are
no leader of mine, and I would have wasted
my time if I thought you would ever listen
to my concerns. Therefore, this is not
addressed to you, but I would not mind
if you spared me a moment, as the Liberal
weed killer withers the fields
of social tulips, tarnished by the hands
of economic persecution.

Rather than wielding your words
of political propaganda like an artist
with a brush, you wield them like a son
who has found his father’s gun,
blowing holes through the hearts
of all Australian citizens. Tell me,
as tax exempt politicians shrink
the pocket money of the people until
it becomes gaunt and feeble,
should you privatise water
to solve the crisis of debt that is almost
non-existent, when in contrast
to countries across the ocean’s divide?

Speaking of, are there 457 reasons
as to why you give jobs away
like leaflets on the street to supposedly
skilled migrants, educated half a world away
with no knowledge on our creed or culture,
yet deny us, Australia’s children,
economical aid when these jobs are unavailable?
In doing everything to hinder families for life,
whilst helping ensure the rich are unimpeded,
you help illustrate that all one needs
to be a minister is the willingness
to tax the poor and deprive them
of government aid; commit cultural
genocide, homophobia and misogyny,
and return us all to the age of the aristocrats,
when only the rich were educated,
and the poor remained forever in their slums.
All this from a man who accused the previous
government of lying, and proceeded
to do away with all of his promises
before the year was over; all this,
from a man who would laugh
in the face of sex workers with seamen stained
lips, and the taste of cheating husbands
dripping upon the every word that falls
from between their teeth; all this
from a man who thinks turning
back boats, and almost starting
an international incident in the process,
makes up for all the families in Australia
that shall go hungry tonight.

Wrapped up in the hangman’s noose,
and meant to march to the music
like a toy soldier, I recall a stranger
having once asked is this your country,
for it is drowning in deficit. Is this your country
probed another, for it is buried
beneath a behemoth of lies. Is this your country
questioned someone else, for it is blind
to the pains of the struggling
and the poor. Is this your country
another citizen asked, for interlopers
and shameful stigmas still exist – when shall
we right the wrongs and cast down
the barricades binding us to poverty? What
answer should I give to those struggling beneath
your reign? Is rape even a crime to a man
who rapes the country blind?

Moreover, did your daughter happen to drop your name
before being granted an education, bought
and paid for, without consent, by the taxpayer?
I am the child of the prime minister perhaps?
A threat, much like a mother telling
her disobedient spawn wait till your father
gets home, and suddenly, those unwilling
to cooperate find themselves flung
out of offices for failing to abide
by the corporate standard; the Abbott’s
get what they want, and all the rest
are fucked over. And so, the tax payer
paid for your daughter’s education,
and now you’ll probably knight her too,
and if my name were Abbott, would I be entitled
to the same? Of course, if she were gay
you would have her disowned, right?
Made an example of; erected a statue
in the middle of the city of you marching
her towards the metaphorical guillotine
in you red budgie smugglers?

On second thoughts, I hardly think I want
an answer when I know it shall
be burdened beneath the arrogance
of pompous, egotistical revolt, from
a man and all his friends who dress
in thousand dollar suits and dresses,
whilst the people strive to buy a loaf
of bread. Here, allow me to give to you
my severed penis, for I want no
children of mine born into your
fucking cut throat regime.

Where in the World is Kevin Brophy?

A reading of this poem can be found at the following link: http://youtu.be/X7LTKTmmRXM

An endless effigy of infinite romanticism
which is promised to endure the constraints of over a thousand years
is encased within poetic stanzas evermore,
for what a poet can teach you in life,
their poetry can teach you in death, the truthful touch
of their agenda holding sway long after their bodies have succumb
to the bludgeoning of a long forgotten millennia.
Even when all who once loved them with a great allotment of endearing passion
have disappeared into the boundaries of death’s universe,
the name of the one who put pen to paper
to express a symphony of regretful love and opinionated torment
continue to be remembered, their voice coming through
from across the divide as though they never really left at all.

But then there are others, I especially,
whose memory shall barely be held onto after the shroud of death
takes my hand in hers. Much unlike the talented poetic legionnaires
of our society, whose professionalism has been passed ever so continuously
from reincarnation time and time again, similarly to the cat
who has crossed the road for the ninth time, the receiving
of another rejection letter sends me into an inescapable delirium
of unwanted anguish. In this hour I am supposed to be victorious
in my pursuit of the perfect poetic piece, the bitter taste of defeat
is all that falls upon my tongue, despite the humbled beginnings
offered at the orchestration of this passage writ.

To ensure the moment after the final stanza falls upon the ears of many
is not one of total embarrassment, treachery and theft
may well become the desperate measures of a man
wanting more than he has been offered by the conveyer of our fates,
and when I do disappear from the realm of the living spirit,
I wish for there to be tears that fall like hail,
rather than the total lack of any actual memory.
To die sad, alone and afraid between the covers of a poetry anthology
50 years out of print is not going to be my end, and with the exception
of becoming a ventriloquist doll in the hopes of having someone
more intelligent than I, commandeer this mouth of mine
to make certain a word of beauty does fall from between my teeth,
I study the works of others to better understand the role I wish to play.

There’s a poet I know in Arizona, who with but one word
can captivate enthrallingly the attention of even the weariest soul.
There’s a poet I know in New York who refuses to use full stops,
and by the time you have finished reading, you are lying on the ground
unconscious. There’s a poet I know in Florida
who refuses to read the work of others,
for she thinks her ears, which are ever so delicate, are a precious commodity
not to be risked on work she considers below par.
There’s a poet I know in Canada who expressly writes about his daughter,
so if tragedy should strike its chord and she be left alone,
never will it cross her mind that she was ever without love.
There’s a poet I know in the Philippines
who only ever writes pieces about heartbreak,
and yet, for a broken heart to happen there must have originally been love,
but never is such an emotion spoken of.
There are poets I know in England who write only about depression,
and who obviously need a recalibration of their repertoire.

But for all I think I know, the knowledge I hold within me
is little more than nothing, for I read once only the old,
renown for serving in poetry wars long forgotten to time,
who are naturally mummified by skin so ancient
it is pulled taught across their defeated frames,
continue to give a little more of themselves
each day to the enduring poetic art,
in the hopes it may outlive the celebrity that is Chappell Corby.
It is then that I hear of a well aged white wine which goes by the name
Kevin Brophy, and if I were to grow on him like a wart
and steal his unfinished masterpiece before it fills a canvas
whole, I could call it my own and receive the love of many.
For this to reach the epicentre of fruition, I shall become
the chalk to his cheese; the Hyde to his Jekyll; the asp to his Cleopatra.

Once this has happened, and I have been brought
the mind of Kevin Brophy, I will come to poetic readings,
not to hear the words that once paraded inside the minds
of those within a community far more intelligent than I,
but to find vixen’s whose beauty is beyond the apex
of my desire, so I may write a poem of their lustrous features
and encapsulate and immortalise this gorgeousness
for the world to still acknowledge a thousand years from now,
and tonight, my poem shall be written about you.

Above all else however, I will write so poem hating zealots,
who dare to criticise what they cannot control;
who are fuelled by the bleeding heart of literature,
as they drown their inebriated ignorant existences
in Molotov cocktails, are forcibly flogged
by a metaphorical chain, comprised from the bones
of unforgotten poets who died to have their words
read by legions in futures that were at the time
yet to be conceived, so they hear the better work of others
like a bout of tinnitus, and if I were a woman,
I would be an Amazon, and I would rip their hearts
out from between their barren bones and show it to their face,
so they might know the words of beauty
which were to be injected into the palpitating muscles
by a poet’s thoughts, which have now been replaced
by the utmost fucking torture of damnation forevermore.

This ability I would always secretly owe to Kevin Brophy,
whose adept creativity I plucked like the virginity
of a fair angel. But when this day arrives, where in the world
would he be; this man who would, and I am certain of this,
be late even for his own obituary, where we would recite how he,
like many a manipulator of the written word,
fell foolishly for poetry, like all who are here now.

My Opinion on the Australian Publishing Scene

Normally I publish only poetry on this blog. In my spare time though (when I am not online, enjoying life, or being drowned under the weight of work), I am attempting to become a published author. With the amount of trouble I am having in becoming published, I always felt it would be nice to find a blog, a post, or anything really, that could help outline what the publishing industry in Australia is like today. Since I am unable to find one, I thought I would simply articulate my opinions garnered from personal experience.

One thing that I constantly find amazing is the information which is provided, and the realisation I have had which reveals how one hand apparently has no idea what the other is doing. I know, cliche expression, but nothing could be more true. University lecturers and tutors I often find are quick to articulate how these past couple of years and the few that are yet to come are the best times to enter the publishing and writing industry, whereas publishers and literary agents reveal quite the opposite.

Back in 2005 when I completed my first short story collection, I began to look for publishers. At the time of the anthology’s orchestration, publishers were apparently happy to accept such a literary style, and when I had finished the text, suddenly many of the publishers who were willing to accept short stories had dried up, and this has only consistently become worse. At the beginning of 2013 I was alerted by a literary agent how apparently the short fiction industry in Australia was completely dead. Most publishers are unwilling to accept such work, and according to professors involved in the writing field at Melbourne University, the interest in short stories has seen a rapid decline over the years in exchange for young adult fiction.

Predominantly, I have been told how the best way to become published is to write either young adult fiction (which I cannot because I consistently get the voice wrong) or fantasy (which has never truly acquired my attention from a writing point of view). What’s more, if a writer creates a series, this is expected to be even more attractive, for the potential success of one book (which has been proven over the past few years with fantasy series’ being all the rage) will inevitably mean that any sequels will rake in just as much popularity.

Moving on, the novel that I have been trying to publish is a science fiction piece, which I have since edited and am in the process of cutting into three separate texts. In 2010, Ewan Mitchell, a known Australian writer in the publishing scene expressed to me when I told him about my project how science fiction was a great genre to write about because it was not constrained and could be internationally understood. A book about the Australian outback for instance may not acquire international acclaim, but Mitchell stressed that science fiction was at the opposite end of the spectrum.

At the start of 2013 I was told by literary agents how fantasy was a dominant genre and science fiction had generally begun to decline, and in December last year I received the same news, only amplified, being told how science fiction was ‘depressed’. As far as I can tell, only five literary agents are willing to accept science fiction oriented work (Australian Literary Management, Cameron’s Management, Curtis Brown, Golvan Arts (although they stress they are very busy) and Jenny Darling and Associates), with two of the other agencies that once accepted such a genre having gone out of business. It’s almost ironic, and clearly was meant to be – I’m depressed and the genre I write about feels the same way.

If that’s not enough, publishers and literary agents have done nothing over the past two years to make me feel any better about becoming successful as a writer. Almost every agent and publisher I contact with regards to whether they are accepting the kind of pieces I write, stress how this is the worst time to become an aspiring writer. So bad in fact that in December of last year, a literary agent (I do believe it was Australian Literary Management) told me to consider another career. Good thing I’m been kept busy by four part time jobs else I would be in trouble.

Sadly though, every time my aspirations are shot down, my opinion on the chances that I have to enter such an industry begin to slowly fade, and after so much trouble I begin to wonder whether I should even bother continuing. True, I have wanted to be an author since I was 5, but I don’t think it is ever too late to run, in the words of an old limerick, over the hills and far away. After so much effort though, do I really wish for my dreams to come crashing down around me without putting up a fight?

True, I could consider the self-publishing scene, but that additionally has its issues. Zeinab Alayan, self published author of Puppet Parade, once said last year that becoming self published was a good thing to put on her resume so publishers could perhaps take this fact under advisement next time she went looking for a potential publisher. However, Australian Literary Management have a clause in their submission guidelines, stating how they will not accept the work of people who have been previously self published. Ouch!

Furthermore, rarely do publishers or literary agents appear willing to help aspiring authors. Many literary agents stress how they are no longer accepting pieces from anyone, and those that are, say the chance of them representing new authors is slim because they are focusing on assisting the authors they are at present signed with. Most publishers furthermore, from Pan to Hodder Headline are unwilling to accept unsolicited work – in layman’s terms, unless work is submitted to them from a literary agent, they do not want to read it. This is made harder by the point that I stressed earlier how literary agents accepting work are rarer than Sasquatch.

Now,  Text Publishing is one of the only Australian publishers who accept unsolicited work, and Allen and Unwin have what they call the Friday Pitch. For the past few years, every Friday a writer is able to send a synopsis, the first chapter of their novel, and a cover sheet which the publisher supplies, and Allen and Unwin will assess the work over the course of a fortnight. Other publishers are unwilling to take chances on new writers, and what really makes me growl in utter frustration is how the rules handed down by publishers do not apply to writers who are already successfully published.

As previously mentioned, since 2004 the short story industry has been descending into inevitable extinction, and yet during this period, Paul Jennings, Andrew Daddo and Andy Griffiths, authors who consistently write short stories, have had their anthologies published, even when their publishing houses (Penguin, Hodder and Pan) have stated in their submission guidelines for over the past few years how they do not accept short stories.

Moving on, poetry is just as defunct as many other literary arts according to publishers, although on occasion I wonder if this is at all accurate. Not one of the major poetry houses are accepting such pieces any longer, with Wendy Flemming, former president of the Melbourne Poets Union stating to me in 2012 how poetry is an art form from the 70s, and is no longer in vogue as it was then. Professor John Brophy of Melbourne University additionally stated in late 2013 that when he was a young poet he was not exactly very well compensated economically, which makes me wonder for how long such an art form has been losing popularity.

In fact, in mid 2013 one of Australia’s leading poetry publishing houses, Brandl and Schlesinger, explained how they were no longer accepting submissions because of a sizable backlog. Due to this, aspiring poets can only hope to have their work published in anthologies (almost every university have their own, which is also on occasion open to the general public), or in smaller publishing houses like the Suburban Review and Five Islands Press. However, Five Islands only ever accepts work in November, and only picks a couple of the vast quantity of submissions they receive. Having attended one of their meetings, I have seen the number of submissions they are sent, and all I can say is this; I am glad I don’t work for them. Hence the reason why I wonder if poetry truly is as defunct as some publishers may lead one to believe.

On that note, does anyone else in Australia have an opinion on the publishing and writing industry? Internationally, do readers elsewhere have an opinion on the writing and publishing sectors in their countries? Do readers agree that today is perhaps the worst time to consider becoming a professional author, or am I speaking utter nonsense? I would very much like to hear (or in this case read) your thoughts!

Thank you for reading.

Discussing the Universum Career Test

Hey all!

During this post I intend to quickly discuss the Universum Wet Feet Career Test.

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This is an annually run event for students at university who are uncertain of the future career paths they may wish to undertake. After and during university, a vast number of students may have the misfortune of being unable to acquire a job, and Universum hopes to cut this number in half.

By undertaking the test, students acquire information about the careers that best suit their skills, and companies and employers that share like-minded attributes and ambitions.

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Depending on the country you are located in, there will be different individuals showcasing the test online. As I am located in Australia, the below link will lead to the test for Australian university students to complete if they wish.

Take the survey here: http://unisurv.co/1010auss14

Additionally, by taking the survey you have the chance to win an iPad Air!

I wish you the best of luck.image4

Thank you for reading!

For a Teardrop of Affection

Dear love, have you abandoned me
this day? Have you granted me
the affection of the woman I adore?
If this is not the case, and the sun
has instead ceased to shine on me,
should I put my heart on auction,
and hope that my lady comes to me?
I can see it now; wanted, a woman
of beauty and intellect; of passion
and understanding; of truth and
divine appeal. Looks are not
everything, but it is true that I am
a man, and the shallowness of my
eyes prevents me from
acknowledging a woman, whose face
fails to capture me. This woman,
she must be an intellectual, capable
of holding a sentence between her
teeth, with enough space behind
her ear for a felt-tip pen. For she
is a writer, and words are her
kung-fu, and with just one punch
she will have you surrounded by
a sentence of her choice. This
woman, she must be able to
charm a cobra with but a glimmer
of a smile, for the poetry of her
personality permeates her world
with the everlasting fragrance
of the life that she enjoys. Her
laugh, must be experienced
in the act of happiness, and needs
to feel like roses caressing the
naked skin rather than the
shattering of broken glass. This
woman, she must have an accent,
quite unlike the one which escapes
my lips, for the sound of an
Australian, to me, has little
romantic appeal, and if she can
speak another language
altogether, well, she would have
certainly plucked the strings of
my attention, from now until
time’s end. This woman, she
must appreciate the touch of
jeans and trousers upon her
legs, not just the billowing of
the wind, or the glisten of our
nearest star. She must not
accommodate every feminine
tradition, and must be capable
of becoming not a stereotype,
but her very own person. The
colour of her eyes; her hair;
her skin, is all debatable, much
like the touch of tattoos and
jewellery, which inevitably,
will always have my approval.
Lastly, and this is non-negotiable,
this woman must be capable of feeling
an affection towards me, and if
this be true, then love it must
surely be, and with a smile, and
a heart of unending greatness,
I will tame the wildest oceans,
cross the driest continents, and
brave the most heinous of storms,
if it means I could kiss the woman
I shall marry and adore from now
until the collapse of everything
that makes me who I am this day.

A little bird told me I’m a Liebster Blogger…

…Recently, I was nominated for the Liebster Blog Award by Billieazahir (AKA The Eye), which I am incredibly appreciative for.

http://billieazahir.wordpress.com/2013/05/17/the-liebster-award/

I do apologise for taking a while to finally register the award on my blog. Originally I thought I had already received this. True, I have, but apparently not on this blog as of yet…until now! Again, thank you!

liebster-award

As with all awards there are rules, and those for the Liebster Blogger are as follows:

1: Link back to the person who nominated you
2: Place the award on your blog and/or in a post
3: Answer the 10 questions your nominator asked
4: State 10 random facts about yourself
5: Nominate 10 other bloggers and alert them to the nomination

So, without further ado, the questions I am required to answer…

1. Do you have a goal in life?
I think everyone has at least one of these (that’s a ‘yes’ FYI) (The question asked me to specify whether I had a goal. It didn’t ask me to say what it was!)

2. City or countryside?
Hmmmm, this is an interesting one. I am originally from the country but now reside in the outer suburbs of Melbourne. I think it really depends. I have never been a huge fan of the city; the bustling crowds; the noise; the traffic congestion; the amount of time it takes to get there, etc.
The city however is viewed as the land of opportunity, the country not being provided with such an image. However, I think the ideology behind said opportunities is more often than not a farce, for they seem to dry up awfully fast.
I think the benefit of living out in the country would be the silence and overall absence of large quantities of people (if one at the time wishes to experience this kind of tranquillity) and perhaps the fact that one could see the stars better at night. The vast quantity of light in the city and surrounding regions makes such an endeavour almost impossible to accomplish, but in the country, as a teacher once told me, the ‘stars flee there’, so why not on occasion join them?

 3. What was the last word you looked up in the dictionary?
Prolixity: an avid sesquipedalian/something which is tediously long

 4. If you had a time machine where would you go?
Now, this is something. I could say that I have always been interested in Cleopatra and go back in time to see how she ruled her dynasty. I could say that I want to see my future, or the future in general in an attempt to garner when and if the aliens come to annihilate us, or vice versa. Honestly though, I have so much going on right now, professionally, personally, educationally and mentally that I am probably content remaining right here in the 21st century. Although I like to look to the future rather than reminisce on the past, I would rather live through it rather than leap frog across certain periods. What is life if you ain’t exactly living it, eh? I’m not exactly one of those people who believe I was put here for a reason, but if I was placed here, it was because I was meant to accomplish something in this time, not in another. On that note, I will keep my feet firmly placed on the ground in today, rather than yesterday, tomorrow or any other date that is miles beyond me. Besides, everyone I love is here; family, friends, girl of my dreams; why would I want to leave any of this behind?

5. Pirate or Vampires?
Vampires – I realise they can be a real pain in the neck, but they don’t say ‘arrrr!’, so that’s something I guess

6. Are you an easily satisfied person or you do you keep working to obtain something
I’m neither, but I’m both. I don’t think this answer typically transcribes the situation, so allow me to provide an example. I’m probably going to be more honest and revealing than I would like, but hey, this is my blog, right? Okay, here goes; I haven’t had a girlfriend in a while. There is actually a point to such a humiliating remark as you will come to find throughout this answer. Well, that ‘while’ is a little longer than I would probably care to reveal. At the present moment, it is more than five years, but less than six. That means, I have not gone out on a date, kissed, or done anything else in the ocean of ‘romantic’ in that period of time with a woman. Now, I would never say that I was stereotypically satisfied with this, but I guess one does eventually become accustomed to, I don’t know, loneliness? True, I have family and I do have friends (although work, et al does come between us more often than not and makes interaction rather difficult and primarily confined to social media), but I guess there is always this hole that is left unfilled which is where a paramour is meant to reside. Now, although I said that perhaps I was ‘used to’ this situation, I don’t exactly mean that anyone can become ‘used to’ anything like this, but routine does eventually become part of one’s life, as it has mine; living alone, eating alone, drinking alone. Maybe on one hand I do wish that I might find someone who could love me. Believe me, I’ve looked, in this city at least. But I know this is just a pipe dream; a childhood fantasy; I’m an adult, and because of that I know there is no light at the end of the tunnel. Now, I guess one could argue that I am, maximum, 24 years of age, and a minimum of 22 (I don’t like revealing the actual digits); I probably shouldn’t be such a depressing individual. But I am not going to waste my time looking for something that doesn’t exist and I am not going to drag anyone else down with me. For those who believe there is someone out there for everyone, they must also believe that some people are destined to be alone, and I am pretty sure I fall into that category. I made my decision; I accepted my fate, and now I have to live with it. Sorry if that sounds depressing. Believe it or not, I don’t think I am terribly depressed in reality though.

7. Sweet or savoury?
Depends on my mood

 8. Do you believe in Karma?
No, but I believe in luck, or perhaps a lack thereof. I would like to think that for all of the bad luck one receives, an equal amount of good luck needs to happen, and when something good transpires, something bad inevitably needs to occur to ensure equilibrium.

9. What’s your favourite comedy film?
I don’t have one; I have several, (in alphabetical order) Bad Eggs, Beverly Hills Cop, Big Trouble in Little China, Blue State, Blue Streak, (the) Breakfast Club, Elf, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, (the) In-Laws, Just Buried, Love Actually, Love Happens, Sergeant Bilko…there’s probably a few more but I can’t quite remember them right now  😀

10. Fantasy or sci-fi?
Def Sci-Fi! Lasers, flying ships and foxy alien chicks! I am so there!

Now, the ten things about myself…

One: I read once on the Facebook page of an up and coming psychologist that she believed approximately 92% of guys wished women would make the first move when it came to relationships. I totally agree! In fact, I’m one of the 92%! Why don’t women ask guys out? They know what they want – what’s stopping them from going out and getting it?

Two: I’m a massive video gamer. When I’m not playing video games, I’m playing video games, and when I’m not playing video games, well, I’m probably doing something else

Three: I have a high calibre of respect for intellect

Four: I have a thing for jewellery – traditional, metal, silver, gothic – you name it, I’m into it

Five: I’m kind of anti-social and I don’t like large crowds – they have a tendency to freak me out

Six:  I often respond well to bribes

Seven: I know two languages; English and bad English – I don’t have the mandatory intellect to succinctly learn more

Eight: I’m a published poet, although funnily enough, I’ve never been published in my home country. Don’t ask me why, although if I were to speculate, I would assume that other countries often have more publishing and anthology houses than Australia does, so are able to accept my trash, whereas Australia has so few houses related to the publishing of poetry and prose, et al, that they must be more strict with the pieces they accept and thus, only have room for ‘the best’. Often ‘the best’ revolves around pieces that are about Australia, and I (and anyone familiar with my blog will know this) more often than not attempt to avoid the subject of my home country for a find it a very difficult and albeit sometimes ludicrous topic to write about, and thus stick to depressing soporific romantic pieces, which traditionally never become published in Australia.

Nine: I can’t dance. Well, truth be told I haven’t tried in quite a while, so maybe my body spontaneously learnt how to one night while I slept? Doubtful, but still…the way I see it, the only time I will ever dance again is the day the world ends. Not because I am happy – but because I won’t have to worry about embarrassing myself or looking stupid because it’s not like there’s going to be anyone around to remember it.

Ten: I sometimes look morose. Not because I am morose, well, I kind of am, but whenever I smile, I kind of look like a psychopathic killer. So don’t mistake my moroseness for genuine moroseness – I might actually be happy, or at least a little bit!?

Okay, now for my nominations: I’m going to be honest with you – I might be following quite a number of blogs, but I am a little too, what’s the word I’m looking for, lazy (?) to nominate ten potential bloggers. So instead, anyone who reads this post and wants the award, it is yours!

Now, for the ten questions for the nominees to answer…

One: Do you really have the time to answer pointlessly boring questions like these?

Two: You are at home, and suddenly everything, technological dies; your laptop, the internet, your phone, your i-pod, your microwave, you name it, it is offline! This continues for 106 hours. What do you do over the course of these hours to occupy your time?

Three: XBOX One or PS4?

Four: What countries around the globe have you travelled to? Whether you have/haven’t, what countries would you like to travel to in the future?

Five: Would you rather assault the alien mother-ship or delve into the dragon’s den? Why?

Six: What is your favourite food group?

Seven: What is your favourite word?

Eight: What is/are your favourite animal/animals?

Nine: Would you rather be filthy rich and have the opportunity to procure anything and everything with the exception of romantic companionship, or would you rather be economically alright (but with a probable financial collapse sometime in your future) and happily and madly in love?

Ten: We currently live in a post-colonial society. Although a great deal of violence and unfathomable distress, both cultural and emotional was inevitably caused by colonialism, do you personally believe that colonialism is a negative occurrence in humanity’s history?

 

Again, thank you to Billieazahir (AKA The Eye) for the Liebster Blogger Award!

Have a great day everyone!

Cheers!  😀

La Douleur Exquise

La Douleur Exquise: (French) The heart wrenching pain of wanting someone you can’t have

Was there ever a more perfect human being than the gorgeous Alexia,
who is the single most beautiful young woman in all of Australia.
Her evocative appearance is something saucy out from a dazzling wet dream,
her smooth, silky, rich skin, milky in appearance is as delectable as whipped cream,
her deliciously red, kissable lips are so marvellously unattainable
and one could become lost in her ravishing brown eyes which are just so delectable
to behold. Her dark hair, like a body of water, gently moves whenever the wind blows
and her body, shaped like an hour glass, could inspire an infinite amount of prose.
Her intelligence is beyond impressive and her personality is fabulous
and that riveting accent of hers is so sexy and so unfathomably gorgeous.
There is another special something about Alexia, I guess you could say it’s her aurora,
a powerful energy which inevitably makes her so unbelievably popular,
and like so many people before me, I have been drawn towards her too,
my reason being because ‘Alexia, I am deeply in love with you,’
and to have but one opportunity to confess these feelings, I’ll collapse to the floor, pray to God and ask him ‘please,
may you grant me a minute of Alexia’s time so I might admit to her my feelings of La Douleur Exquise.’

Inside her eyes rolls an endless ocean of great darkness, which is as resilient as the embers of a burning flame.
I can see it powerfully glowing behind her mask of happiness because like her, inside my heart I feel the same.
I understand she doesn’t want anyone to know her secret, and for its discovery I take the blame,
however, my darkness would come to an end the moment she acknowledges my existence and says my name
in that uniquely untraceable, riveting accent of hers; in her sumptuously high pitched voice.
Out of all the women in the world, Alexia is the one I give my heart to, she is my heart’s choice
and I wonder, if she can save me from my eternal darkness, could I perhaps be her cure?
My heart may be a twisted and depraved vessel, but my intentions are entirely pure.
For if she be broken, even a little, maybe Alexia can understand the pain in my heart,
for if it exists in hers, maybe she can put me back together rather than further tear me apart,
and perhaps I too can do the same for her and we can become symbiotically joined as one
and together we can brave the unrelenting darkness and never again shall we come undone,
for I want to see Alexia for who she is, from her impeccable strengths to her fatal flaws,
because I long to be her heart’s hero, just as I can no longer wait ‘to be entirely yours,’
and with these few words said to Alexia’s face, suddenly the truth she shall be shown,
that being she is the single most amazing young woman my loving heart has ever known.

However, soon Alexia will have to leave and return to the country where she originally did reside
for if somebody said Alexia was completely Australian, then I’m afraid someone heinously lied.
The opportunity to confess my feelings is all but slowly being depleted
and soon there’ll be no time left in the world for my heart to be successfully treated,
for then a great travesty of a depression will inevitably befall me heart and whole;
Alexia has become a part of my bloodstream; a part of my spirit; a part of my soul.
What I wouldn’t give for Alexia to see me, for her to come up to me and say
‘young man, I have seen you staring endlessly at my person almost every single day,
and I would very much like to know, is there something you want me to do; is there anything you want from me?’
‘if you do not know by now what it is that I want, I am certain you never will’ I would reply sadly.
From the moment I first saw Alexia, I have constantly without end thought, dreamed and fantasised of no one else,
and if she still be left unaware, then obviously she is not destined to be my partner, my lover, my spouse.
I have tried not thinking about her, but the horribly difficult task is almost unimaginable
and it is unfortunate I cannot move on either because my heart has become uninhabitable
to any other woman but her. I’m in love with a woman who could never love me and for this I ask to be put to death
because what is the point of being alive if every thought of mine is consumed by Alexia, from now until my dying breath.

Due to these romantic feelings, I fear there must be something terribly wrong with me for I am concerned for my heart’s health,
and I just know that I can’t let Alexia find out because if she did, she would hate me almost as much as I hate myself,
for no woman would ever wish to discover she is a pathetically weak, little man’s muse
and no matter how hard I try to keep my strong feelings in check I know I am destined to lose,
because I have already tried everything; remedies, potions and prayer
to stop the beautiful woman of my dreams from becoming my nightmare.
During these dreams I play a broken, weeping man who collapses to his knees
upon realising his only company during his death is La Douleur Exquise.
I’d rather these dreadful dreams of mine remain fictitious, for I would not survive if they were real.
The painful truth is they already are, for Alexia could never understand how I feel.
For I am a horrid monster; hideous and hated by all. Unwanted, unloved, emotionally crippled to the core,
and if Alexia even managed to look at me on but one occasion, I am certain she could look again no more
for one look at my physical appearance would without a doubt fill her with an unrelenting dread,
and if she had a Djinn I am almost certain that at least one wish would be reserved to have me dead.
If this be true, as pathetic as it may sound, my feelings for her will continue to have an indefinite longevity,
because ‘I will always love you more than anything Alexia, even life itself, and I am forever yours my lady.’

Vancouver Sunrise

This here poem shall echo on throughout the course of time
until words are no longer words and they no longer rhyme.
This here poem shall echo on through the ages,
across words, lines, stanzas, paragraphs and pages.
This here poem is more romantic than previous love stories
and shall stretch across several lands, worlds, countries and territories.
This here poem is not about a conclusion, but a beginning
of a romance that is in itself entirely never ending.

Who would have thunk that I would one day be driving through the streets of Canada,
when five months prior I was in my bed, sleeping soundly in Australia.
Who would believe I would be driving down a Canadian highway
with the cold as my companion under the light of a brand new day
as my vehicle flies by an endless ocean of trees on either side,
which is the start of great forestry where many breeds of animals hide.
Behind me in my rear view mirror I see the incredible Vancouver sunrise
whilst ahead of me across the border is where the American continent lies
and just as I reach the border I realise I need to quickly turn around;
the Canadian border just saved my life for true love I have already found.
I put my foot to the pedal and hurry back the way I came
and under my breath I frequently repeat my young lover’s name
whilst the golden sun glows across my skin and the cold wind caresses me too
and as soon as I reach her door I will announce ‘Alexia, I love you.’

Five months prior, the last thought that could ever come to mind was the thought of travelling
across the vast oceans of this world to experience a cool Vancouver morning.
Allow this writer to paint a picture of how this came to be
and perhaps after reading several stanzas you will agree
that this is a luscious love poem unlike any other that has come before
and the feelings generated are all passion without a single flaw.

It’s 4a.m. Wednesday morning, I wake all alone.
Why did I wake you might ask; there’s someone on the phone.
Alexia’s calling from a payphone in the middle-class district of Coal Harbour
and in the background I can hear the shriek of the wind and the cry of the cold weather.
‘Just last night I was staring passionately at your picture on the bedroom wall,
it seems, almost like destiny that the next morning you suddenly choose to call.’
Her mobile is dead and she has lost some of her luggage
but her strength hasn’t waned and she still has her courage,
other than that, she is totally unaffected and completely fine,
before beginning to articulate why she happens to be on the line.
Initially I thought that maybe she wished to redefine our relationship,
after all, truth of the matter was, I had always wanted more than a friendship.
Additionally, I wonder if she is calling to talk about a future,
where, instead of being a loyal friend of mine she is my infatuated lover
and I am also hers; a wish I’d always wanted as my own,
but seldom had these lustrous dreams I have ever truly grown.
Instead, you want to sell me a trip to Canada, to experience what life’s like there
and I ecstatically reply ‘Alexia, I will gladly go with you anywhere.’

You could sell me almost anything; all I dream of is your hand.
To the man in the desert, you could sell more irritating sand,
to the captain of the sinking ship in the Pacific you could see more sea,
but all I want, in all the world, is for you to sell your loving heart to me.
For you are the Alexia of life and you are the unwilling owner of this man’s heart
and as I quickly pack my gear, I do so not only because I cannot stand being apart
but because I wish to reveal to you a truth you have not yet found;
a truth that has always existed, one that has always been around
and the truth is, I’m the man of your dreams masquerading as your closest friend,
however, I am afraid this man can no longer adequately pretend.
I must tear down the great walls of this façade and reveal to you the way I feel
and all I can ever do is hope that the love I dream you have for me is real,
for I am obliged to show you the strong emotions inside my heart and soul
because without you, my dear, I am nothing more than a fraction of a whole.
Upon reuniting in Canada, I will happily kiss you where you stand
and perhaps, if I be lucky, everything will turn out the way I always planned.

When I eventually did arrive in this alien country Alexia did not hesitate
and together we quickly began our adventurous travels, but first, we had to masticate
for our hunger was fast becoming so intense it was unbelievably sublime
and if we wanted to go on a journey or two we needed to be in our prime.
I remember travelling to Prince Edward Island and dining in Charlottetown
and at the Saint John Farmer’s Market in Fredericton we greatly weighed ourselves down
with an unimaginable wealth of food and other necessities
for when we would being travelling across the many territories.
We had a stopover in Toronto and stayed the night at the Hotel Alexandra,
before continuing onwards the next day to explore other portions of Canada.
We traversed through the amazing Miles Canyon in the area known as Whitehorse
and under the bright moonlight we dined upon a deliciously homemade main course,
before travelling to view a festival in Edmonton and the gorgeous Lake Louise in Alberta
and later taking the Tsawwassen-Swartz Bay Ferry to admire the many castles in Victoria.
In Halifax I learnt that the local old town clock had been keeping time since 1803
and I wondered to myself, ‘would it take as long for Alexia to ever notice me?’

As the few months quickly drift by, my romantic goals remain incomplete
and my heart becomes overburdened with the intense feeling of defeat.
I never believed Alexia had the ability to read my mind,
however, I felt that the truth of it all she would inevitably find
at her own volition. I have been sending more signals than a satellite
and I cannot fathom why she has not seen what I am now choosing to write.
I have been in love with her since the very moment I heard her voice
and I have become a slave to love, I was never granted a choice.
But a man can only accept loss so many times before he officially gives in
and I for one cannot take anymore pain for I have already been long sufferin’
the incredible emotions that run rampant throughout my head
and I guess I am going to leave with a broken heart instead,
for although I came to this great country with the one intention of acquiring Alexia,
it seems unfortunate that I will be leaving in much the same way that I arrived in Canada.
The highway I drive across is nearly vacant as I hurry by in my vehicle,
my palpitating heart distraught that I am still yet to claim my one forbidden angel.
Behind me in my rear view mirror I see the incredible Vancouver sunrise
whilst ahead of me across the border is where the American continent lies
and just as I reach the border I realise I need to quickly turn around;
the Canadian border just saved my life for true love I have already found.
I put my foot to the pedal and hurry back the way I came
and under my breath I frequently repeat my young lover’s name
whilst the golden sun glows across my skin and the cold wind caresses me too
and as soon as I reach her door I will announce ‘Alexia, I love you.’

A Better Place to Live

‘Home is where the heart is’; this sentence is one many a man has theorised.
But what happens if the home is responsible for the heart been terrorised?
Imagine a young woman driving through the suburbs one night, seven months pregnant;
looking so peaceful, happy and prestigious, so unbelievably elegant.
She has no idea in a few seconds, she will experience terrible pain,
after which, there is nobody out there who will ever see her alive again,
for there are a few young boys who have been happily throwing back the beers;
but they are ignorant, wild and free, and they are living their younger years,
so it’s alright in Australia if you’re twenty one and drunk, twenty four/seven,
because it doesn’t matter if you kill one man or thousands – you’re still bound for Heaven.
There are no repercussions for ‘accidents’ in this country; no punishment for the crime,
instead, the five boys jump onto the internet and state how they can’t wait for the next time.

Never before had the boys felt so alive until the day they officially went homicidal,
after their car reached such impossible speeds and ploughed into the side of the young mother’s vehicle.
Online, their following grows incredibly larger, they now have two hundred thousand plus or more,
and all of their followers laugh when the boys announce ‘we’re glad we killed that slut, and her unborn whore.’
Later in court, the boys pretend to be truly remorseful, and claim to be sorry for what they have done;
in return, they receive a suspended sentence, and won’t have to serve a night in prison, that’s right, not one.
However, when told their licences will be suspended, they immediately lose their charm,
and publically explode and rant about how the legal system has caused them unjustly harm.
Their lawyers rush the boys out from the court as fast as possible, and explain how they have been set free,
and even though they aren’t allowed to drive, the hearts of judges cannot grieve over what they do not see.
Where is the justice? What happened to the system? Knife, car, it doesn’t matter – they are both potential murder weapons,
and if there’s no justice for the loss of two innocents, what hope is there for victims of burglary, rape or arson?

Today, five murderers were set free, but tomorrow they will be doing what they do best;
assaulting innocent victims, and ripping the hearts out from the victims family’s chests.
Tomorrow they will beat up a family at the local train station; the next, they will gang rape a young mother,
and they’ll get away with it too, because in Australia, being drunk is as good an excuse as any other.
Of course, the tabloids will cover it up, as will law enforcement and the government,
because that’s what politicians do; plot and scheme under the privilege of parliament.
How can your family be safe in their own home, when those assigned to protect you are just as guilty as any malicious murderer?
How can you protect yourself, when every second person has a knife, every third person a pistol and every fourth a grenade launcher?
Politicians say there are no racists in Australia; it’s a country of multiculturalism, unless of course your skin isn’t white,
in which case you will be racially attacked, slanderously assaulted and physically injured for the rest of your life every day and night.
Politicians say there is no violence in Australia, except for in those seven states,
because everywhere you look there is prejudice, there is anguish, there’s sexism and there is hate.

Politicians say Australia is the land of opportunity for those wishing to start a profession,
of course, none of this bureaucratic bullshit applies if a woman is the one applying for the position.
Politicians say the Australian crime statistics are a blatant over-exaggeration,
and there is nothing to fear on those dark city streets; except for the thousands of violent civilians,
and all the whilst as this antagonistic misogyny, violence and racism takes place,
the politicians of Australia do absolutely nothing, except attempt to save face.
Perhaps if those five boys had gone to prison, crime would have dropped by a fraction of a per cent,
and maybe the future of Australia would not be quite as bleak or dark as our present,
for those five drunk friends are not the only criminals who have escaped going to prison,
and so instead of doing time, they have the chance to kill another innocent person,
because they didn’t just kill two people that fateful evening, they also robbed another of their life;
that night they murdered a father’s beautiful unborn daughter, and a husband’s closest friend and darling wife.

Poetry Competition!

Hello bloggers & readers.

I am not sure that I have ever mentioned this, but I am a volunteer with the Melbourne Poets Union. For more information on the union, please visit this fellow WordPress site:

http://melbournepoetsunion.wordpress.com/

What I will tell you is that the Melbourne Poets Union (MPU for short) is involved in preserving, practicing and providing poetry to Australians and to the world.

Now, at the moment we are running our annual competition. This year the poetry competition is being judged by Australian poet and academic scholar Dr. Homer Rieth, who we are very proud to have judging this event.

The submitted poems are to have 50 lines or less, and can be on any theme.

Each poem submitted however does require both an entry form (that can be found at this link):

http://home.vicnet.net.au/~mpuinc/MPU/Competitions.html

and additionally requires a sum of either: $9 for 1 poem, $16 for 2 poems or $22 for 3 poems

Those who enter the competition go in to not only have their work published and have the opportunity to perform their work on stage (if you live in a country where it is not convenient to come all the way to the place Down Under then you do not have to), but go in to the draw to win $1,000 for first prize, $300 for second and $200 for third, with additional prizes been provided to those who are credited as Highly Commended pieces.

This competition is not only for Australians, so please, wherever you may be, if you wish to submit, we would love to read your work!

Thank you for reading, and to all the poets, rhymesters and other talented poetic writers out there, I hope you consider submitting!

If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask via the comment section at the end of this post!

Thank you again!

Below is a flyer for the competition:

one of several flyers being used to market the poetry competition. Again, I urge you to consider entering if you absolutely love poetry