That's the Case (For Gail)

...those horrible white sky days of Adelaide,
I hate them for their glare.
They never let the fumes take flight;
Remind me of an office where
The only light's fluorescent white.

Gail Jones, she comes, and sees, she says,
Such clouds as semen in the sky.
If that's the case, then, office workers,
Your light's the work of countless jerkers.
My hatred's gone a bit awry.

Note: Australian author, Gail Jones.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Liz's Question

You ask me why
I like the guy
Whose faith it is
That every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

You ask I s'pose
The reason why
I do one thing
and not another.

I could tell you,
''Tain't your business.'
I could take a breath of air and sigh,
'I don't know. I've no idea, your Lizness.'

I could fabricate a lie,
My ignorance to cover.
Let you know my little lie.
Meditate upon my lie.

[...] Read more

poem by Douglas Scotney
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The End of 'Ulysses'-a triple-barrelled limerick

'Ulysses' is a buck of a ride
Wherever you get on inside.
The end is no canter
Molly's a ranter
Stopping she cannot abide.

She rants a long distance
To Gibraltar for instance.
She's trained hard for the meet.
You can't begrudge her her feat.
But then she pulls down her pants.

And rants, on the potty no less,
Raves about Poldy's largess,
Lists bucks she's had in the sack,
Likes a Bloom tongue in her crack.
We've had a buck of a ride by her 'Yes'.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Wisdom and Fact

Propaganda painter
No Saint was S T Gill

Knowing that in England
Wisdom was not bliss
Wise man down in Adelaide
Thought he could alter this.

He packed his pics
With doctored bliss
That lured folks to Australia.
His bliss they found there lacking.
With wisdom still in tact
They sent the painter packing-
To goldfields, Melbourne, Sydney-this
Wise con-man died in failure:
Wiser knowing though for sure
That wisdom can't be bliss
When wisdom's faced with fact.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Doug's Peach

The Theory of Non-Exclusivity states that:
Always right exists in left
And likewise left in right.

I went outside and picked a peach,
the episcopalian of the four.

Parts were ripe and parts were wrong-
if 'wrong' is 'not as ripe'.
And if 'wrong' is 'not as ripe',
then 'ripe' is 'right' for sure.

I ate some right, then ate the wrong,
then ate what right was left:
thus proving, sure as Al's my brother,
that neither right nor left is
exclusive of the other.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Cinnamon + = plus

Since Xmas time it seemed I'd seen
The + on hot cross bun,
But hadn't bought a one.
I thought I wouldn't bother,
But brought back two on Maundy Day,
Ate one, left out the other.

I now can tell the sight of cross
Is nothing to the smell:
For breeding thought of body dead
+ dread sweet smell of hell.

And you who've had the scent around
Since bun first hit the shelf?
You who notice hell no more?
Your hell will hit next Tuesday when
There's bun no more in store.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Satire II: En Excedent 'Ca Va' (Un Bout de Semiologie) 'Fare Fair' Excess (A Semiological Dig)

'Demandez vous de moi, 'Ca va? '? ' 'Ask of me, 'Fare fair? '? '
'Ca va? ...Ca va? ' 'Fare fair? ...Fare fair? '
'Ca va....Ca va? ' 'Fare fair....Fare fair? '
'Tout va.' 'All fair.'
'Beaucoup trop 'Ca va'.' 'Much too much 'Fare fair'.'
'Un 'Tout va'.' 'One 'All fair'.'
'O! la! la! le temps! ' 'O! la! la! the time! '
'Helas! un n'est pas tout va! ' 'Alas! One is not all fair! '
'Adieu! Mon Dieu! ' 'Good bye! My God! '
'Il est, et est Temps.' 'He is, and is Time.'

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Les Fleurs des Mots: Un Morceau du Pidgin

Mon frere, ma soeur et moi
a l'exterieure
de la bibliotheque
de l'universite
de Paris.
Sculptures,
en gres,
du homme de renom.
Pocketable oeuvres
(poche doovers) .
Nous n'etonnions pas
quand nous were searched at la porte.
Mon homme asked, 'You were in court before? '
(Je hadn't done any courtroom francais,
let alone past tense.
Il parlais anglais.)
Je said, 'Not en France.'
Nous left, et soon noticed
il following us.
Je said,

[...] Read more

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Irish-English

Having stolen all the goods and gone,
The English are back in Ireland
Seeking the good of man
In folksong of the past.
Irish in acadamia
Have left the country behind
Preferring to live where the air comes in,
Leave the stench to the English mind.
It's neither one thing nor another
But a blend that works the best.
But when it comes to English-Irish
The latter think the opposite's blessed.
Living by the nostrils the Irish whiff the past,
'The English they can have it. By the future we are cast.'

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Peach Extender

When 'not much left exists in right'
meets 'little right in left',
all weft no warp,
all warp no weft,
no weave appears in sight.

But every now and then detected,
a pulse of left in right,
a flash of right in left:
'There's the breach I hoped, expected;
the exception proves the rule:
full fathom five no fellow lies
full-on right-wing fool,
full-on left-wing tool.'

Follow-on from my poem 'Doug's Peach'.
Partly inspired by Q&A debate between Cardinal Pell and Richard Dawkins on 9.4.2012.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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