Vigil

There’s a train beneath your feet somewhere
It rumbles up through weathered boots and concrete
And a plane up above in the summer air
Your hear it approaching, you then hear it going

There’s a candle burning down in Newtown Square
Its wax melting into the paving stones
You’re on King St, crying, the cars rushing by
Wondering how any of us ever survive
The days we all feel so impossibly alone

There are flags waving in the smirking heat
They warble and waltz in the shimmering air
And a scene in chalk on the darkening street
You dance with the outlines, people stop and stare

There’s a fire burning down old Sydney town
The flames dancing right through the steel and stone
You’re on the 380, heading back from the beach
Wondering why everything seems just out of reach
And the old places now seem they never were home

There’s a fire that pounds deep within your chest
It’s a heart that beats just like anyone else
But you feel kind of different, like something has changed
These burnt out streets will never be the same
As you stand on the platform, waiting for your train

January 2020 Derek Wilson

Sunset out of BNE

Are you willing and able to comply with the requirements
in the event of an emergency?
Are you certain that you’re sound of mind and sober
and possessed of at least some competency?
Do you ever have dreams about flying
or feelings that one day you might
die in an aeroplane crash?
We don’t expect to be crashing
anyway, in any case,
but anyway, just in case

would you prefer the beef with mashed potato
or the chicken that thinks the sky is falling?

May 2019 Derek Wilson

Dreems

Baby, grab a keyboard
Play us a joke
You’re a filament buster
A smooth marquis
Guitar solo on the take
You know when to quit
But shoulda hit fake

So bring an instrument
Bring the audition
The steps and the saunter
And the auteur inner vision

Like, who would be watching
If not the yous
Who would be judging
From the pews

So bring a few hundred
Judges of style
Play us a jig and a dirge
And suicide
And all your dreems inside
Sound like
Rain

And all of your pain
Is a fairground ride

 

November 2018 Derek Wilson

Snow Capped Mountains Over Parking Lot

The shots ring out in the parking lots
We scatter like rabbits shot with shots
We break apart and fall like snow
A bloody frozen rain upon the earth

The echo forms like a marching band
We flail like flying fish in sand
We waterfall and body blow
A wailing sound, like dying and rebirth

We donut twice on the asphalt lawn
We twitter and twinkle and fawn forlorn
The blinking texts we bear to show
A spatter of wit, a sprinkle of mirth

The snow falls deep on the launching pad
We shot in space, surprised and sad
We fall apart in the orbits, low
A barren world below our valued worth

The night calls clear and heeds the moon
We burn up way too soon, too soon
We vaccinate and shutter slow
A sea of blood becomes our national girth

The bitter bingles and buffers the fight
We vodka twice and across the night
We melt and drink again and know
The rabbits shiver waiting for the snow

April 2008-2018 Derek Wilson

---

 

I wrote the title as a FB status 10 years ago, sitting in a hotel in Reno. Tonight I thought it should have the rest of it.

Kite

I snagged the world on a wire
as it was trying to pass me by
folded and painted, pink and blue kite
thrashing about in the darkening sky

“You’ll never take me alive!” it screamed
and hacked at the binds, tore at the brace
and that was the last we saw of Earth
drifting off into distant space

 

September 2016 Derek Wilson

wild walls

you wish things
trying to remember why
but a clock ticks
it’s distracting
the drip, drip, drip
of seconds seeping
through the faded face

you remember things
hoping to discover why
but you’re lost now
a child scrawling
outside the lines
tattered treasure maps
coloured carelessly

you discover things
trying to understand why
but the ground gives
a slip and slide
a wet playground
you used to come to
now it’s long shut down

you understand things
hoping now that satisfies
but the sound cracks
broken speakers
the music distorts
you can’t even talk
a wall of pink noise

you hope things
remembering how you tried
but these walls, wild
ever shifting
to the next scene
of this lifelike dream
are now closing in

 

August 2016 Derek Wilson

Was orbiting

I told her that I was a satellite
But was falling from the darkened sky
She grabbed me by the collar
And pressed her words into my ear
She sounded like a deceiver
Though I desperately wanted to believe her

Then she asked what I was thinking about
Radar locked, she has my position
I told her I thought only a young man could write
A song like “All you need is love”

She looked at me like I was alien
A moon to modern thinking
Pushing my glass a little closer
She said, “Sure mate, just keep drinking”

March 2016 Derek Wilson

Poison

King Street
 Thursday night
It’s early
 A girl walks by
She smells like…
 times gone by
You panic
Then play on
Whifts become drafts
 and scents of songs
Five thousands steps
 and then plus some
Flinders Street
 Still Thursday night
  but a little more
The people past
 walking through doors
…Out the same way
What to do tonight?
But restitch names
 to faces and name
  your poison

March 2016 Derek Wilson

Sound waves

I write your name in the air
With my hands
To occupy them
Because they are not occupied
By you, right now
And are restless

I whisper you name in the night
To the moon
With my lips
Because they are not upon
Your own, right now
And are naked

I read your name on the screen
With my eyes
To rest them
Because they are tired of not
Seeing you, right now
And are seeking

I hear your name play along
To these songs
With my ears
Because they are not near you
But listening, right now
And hear music

April 2015 Derek Wilson

Beggars

She hangs her head, tears spill down
Curious, weird, not hitting the ground
But caught by the air and flown away
It’s windy today, a little too cold
She shivers
If only it were only
The weather
The comfort I offer is also cold it seems
Shivering wet from its own tears

“You know how when you’re trying to avoid something?
Telling yourself ‘I must steer clear of that’ –
It ends up kind of making you do it”
Says the barber, scissors snapping in the air.

I walk out down Bond St.
The business end of the
Monopoly board
Trying to buy a hotel
Should have tucked my empty pockets in
They saw me coming
And were snickering

If I had a million dollars
For every one of those tears…
If I I knew how to drive
Or at least, how to steer
“Can you spare a dollar, mister?”
Sorry mate, not today
A blanket, a bottle
If I knew how to trust
If I knew how to beg
Or at least, how to busk…

March 2015 Derek Wilson

Fare Well

Ah, here we are again
Concrete, linoleum
And bad black coffee

Sunglasses, boarding pass
Time travelling too fast
Broken landing gear

Scanning the terminal
Waiting for time will tell
Escher, Picasso

Slipping too easily
Swung like a chimpanzee
Singing in slow-mo

It rains through the window
Shatter, ka-ching, bellow
And breakfast with beer

Nothing to see at all
Launching, the fling, the fall
Nothing to see here

In depth like an ocean
What could we do but sing
Just like believers

Nothing is terminal
That doesn’t end it all
See how we’re waving?

March 2015 Derek Wilson

Boomerang

 

This Christmas night, how still we are

Lain in sand, orphaned, loved and landed

As she, amongst the waves, beckons

With a raised hand; the tempting sea

 

We sing like there is nothing better to do

Except dance; and vice versa

Somewhere around the second verse

We were hooked, on loop, unable

To stop the music

 

We put on these things, finery

Of a fashion, reality woven like tartan

Our fabric tears a little and

Bears more, and wears

 

We talk so long into the morning

That now, even the night is yawning

So off with us all, we fly, away

And one may wish, and one may stay

But really, who was ever here anyway?

 

We dance that dance, sing that song

And in these things we may belong

 

January 2015 Derek Wilson

I believe in dog

 

Twinkle, twinkle, it’s hard to imagine

A life from now on without this pageant

Sparkle, sparkle, it’s hard to believe

That life goes on without this meme

 

Chuckle, chuckle, my years on earth

Have never been so weighted with mirth

Laughter and tears drawn from the same well

We clowns cry of heaven while juggling hell

 

January 2015 Derek Wilson

Bluebell With A Broken Heart. The Sequel.

 
All my friends have broken apart
I wrote them into neat poems and verse
Imbued them with sparkle, tried to lift the curse
But their passion just floundered and the pain got worse
And the misunderstanding, the reasoning too
All my friends have nothing to do
With what it seems they’re going through
They are all algorithms, all computations
Mathematical theoretications
Abstracts of skin and the blood they are shedding
A précis of love and the mores they’re wedding
Superglued down to a few circuit boards
They are bored, but hairy, hungry and tired
Defying the digital with their unfocused eyes
All my friends have new ways to die

 
Now they know the words, sometimes sing along
But none of my friends want to be in my songs
They’re all about heartbreak, suffering and truth
All my friends want nothing to do with me
No time to spare, no time to wait
No time to sing sea shanties into the night
The ether, the ever, the over and over
The counterpoint cascades
The carefully constructed charade
The parade of characters
And the cast, the extras, the chorus, the choir
All my friends slowly slip away
With nothing to speak about
Nothing to say, no requirements
None of my friends want to live my curse
Yet they happily wave as the hearse pulls away
Hoping they never get to see me this way

 
All my friends
Know who they are
They scratch the itch
And ignore the scar

 
January 2015 Derek Wilson

 
A response, of sorts, to this from 2008:

http://delboywilson.com/2009/04/04/bluebell-with-a-broken-heart/

Better The Angel You Know

The devil on my shoulder

Whispers softly, “walk this way…”

Then she’s off, flies away

But she sways, I may stray

So do I follow or do I stay?

Is she the yea or the nay?

What is she trying to say?

And why would she tempt me like this?

With promises, theft, a giggle, a kiss

A brush of freedom, a hint of bliss

Then a lie, a fist, a head shaken thus

Derision, distrust, delusion

I’ll walk in a straight line to prove I am right

I’ll walk a crooked mile to prove that the only thing new

Is the numbers that move on the squares of paper

That present us with the present and correct date

I’ll wait and wait and I’ll stay up late

I’ll sing little tunes while dancing in rooms

Too small for my moves

But at least I dance

At least I sing melody and romance

And kind of obsess on themes

Of temptation and roads to redemption

And stitch together wings out of

Old denim, guitar strings and things

And flap them against those

Lofty ideals, that wise men

Idolise and lesser men lionise

At least, when I fall

I’ll know it wasn’t all in vain

That deserting little angel

Can be heard to take up my refrain

And off she hums into the rain

To find a new shoulder

“Follow me, walk this way”.

So much to do, so little to say

December 2014 Derek Wilson

Sputnik 1

Catch a falling heart and put it in a rocket

Shoot it into outer space

Clutch a broken heart and put it in your pocket

Save it from the human race

 –

December 2014 (thieved by) Derek Wilson

Like that time we ran away

Or like that time we met in the east, then the west

We were both a little disaffected

Disoriented and somewhat different too

You turned to me and looked at me and said to me

You were meant for me

And I said to you that I was never meant for you

You turned towards me, looked at me and said again

You were meant for me

And I said, I said that I was never meant for you

But what’s a girl supposed to do?

What’s a girl supposed to do?

–

Like that time we walked in the freezing cold

Through metres of snow up the side of a volcano

And wanted to throw ourselves over the rim

But the snow was too deep and the wind was too cold

The trails were all closed and our batteries were dying

You didn’t have sunglasses on and my boots were wearing thin

You weren’t wearing any shades and my boots had holes in them

–

Like that time the sun set over Harajuku

We were in the garden above the city

And it was freezing there too

Seemed like all the world was frozen

Except your tears that never stopped flowing

And I was slipping on the ice they were forming

Falling over the railing down to the streets

Where I became a curiosity

People came to stare at me

They covered my body in bright fluoro green

A goth placed a black kiss upon my lips

Made the sign of the cross and then disappeared

–

December 2014 Derek Wilson

A night at The Provista Hotel

Did I ever tell you about that time
She fell briefly in love with that guy at work
Who was never going to let her be
Anything more than anything
And, he couldn’t speak her language?

So, now she’s standing outside that hotel
With a beer in one hand
Taking a photo with the other eye
Wondering why
What is she doing here?
She looks up at her old room
As if the ache in her hopes to see
Her years-ago self looking down

She shouts up a couple of questions
After getting over the initial shock…
But what she really wants to ask is
“What the hell were you thinking back then?”
But who can remember?
Who can ever remember?

She retraces old steps, back under a bridge
Past an old iron-and-brick fence
Surrounding fir trees
Aged concrete, all so familiar
How many times did she do this?
And why is it so important to do again now?

It is as if somehow
There was so much noise back then
That she couldn’t see.
But the question is.
And when years-ago asks her,
Who is she?

December 2014 Derek Wilson

Dope

Even tomorrow
Your lips could stray
Connect with mine
But for tonight
We’ll never know
And simply stood
A little too close
Leant slightly in
A brushed hand
A smile is hope

Mixed Literary Arts (MLA)

I read your latest poem
Like W.H.Auden meets
Jim Morrison
If they had a fight
Who do you reckon
Would win?

I shoulda left it hanging
An orphan thought in a still breeze
But you are wrong
Son of a preacher man
And man, my money’s on
Auden

October 2014 Derek Wilson

Estrange

Do you know her name?

Something she said

Reminded me of someone else

Like the snows west of the city

Remind me of a desert

Someplace east

And I wonder if she’s happier

In the cold or in the heat

It’s a blizzard that blazes

Inside of my head and

I’m longing for some sleep

But for now I’ve got to

Sit with my back against the door

And hope that it holds while

The wind pounds it fists

 

I can’t feel my feet

We may need to share

Our body heat to keep warm

Until the storm passes

 

Staring out into darkness

Right on the brink

It’s too early for breakfast

But too late for another drink

Whatever will we talk about?

We watch the sun slowly rise

As she does something with her lips

And she sort of smiles and sighs

And does something else

With her hips

 

August 2014 Derek Wilson

Arrows

And then, we were released
Like balloons into the sky
But with a little bit less pressure
Inside
And we had so much colour
And we flew to survive

June 2014 Derek Wilson

Bleeding Heart Yard

I stood on the corner of Bleeding Heart Yard and Charles Street with a head beating hard and eyes the colour of the stinging sleet, and while old men drank themselves to sleep, I pissed in a beggar’s cup and wept, while he painted me colourful epithets; and thus redressed, out I stepped and joined a crowd of protestants filling the alleys and the streets, headed for the temples and the courts.

Feeling out of sorts, how quickly I became caught up in the fervour, the growing murmur of ills and discontent. We protest like it were business, against jesters and clowns, the sharp suited, well paid entertainers of our generation. They have letters and laws and talents and claws, while we, wings clipped, double dipped in boiling oil, USD$XXX a barrel, quarrel over distraction. Oh look, a puppy! A woman in office! A gay marriage! A drug bust! A snow storm! At the first sign of offence we raise signs, they a fence. We do battle on the fields of evidence, but it’s rhetoric that always wins out in the end. Winds of change that stay the same course. What’s in a name? What’s the game?

So I wander off by myself into the broken suburbs and distortion, lose myself in alcohol and action movies, pimped up chicks and dive bars. I bequeath myself a stage name and from underneath a thin veneer I act out the life prescribed me, presumably into eternity. There goes our hero into the sunset, week after week, searching always for that elusive alternate ending. Will he ever find it? Tune in next time!

To be continued…

April 2014 Derek Wilson

Here comes the I love you

Here comes the I do

And here comes the ring

And there goes the fashion

There goes the fling

There go the fabulous

Fantastic fiends

And here come the fatuous

Femme fatale friends

There fucks his fortune

In a field of false dreams

Feeding off fantasy

Framing each scene

With gilding and filigree

Frilled pastel frippery

Here comes the fallout

Here comes the I will

The you won’t, you can’t

You don’t, you shan’t

Until death

The fade out, the trill

The turn off, the tune out

The turn up and clock off

Here comes the tedious

Here come the trials

The misleading, mischievous

Menacing wiles

Here stands the accused

At a worn guillotine

Heading off hegemony

With each nail-biting scene

Each nightmare, each dream

And here come the excuses

Here come the inducers

The matchmakers, fee takers

Counsellors & heart breakers

And then there’s the children

The swaddling and the cloth

And the nappies and the bug eyes

And the screaming from birth

Or the Aunts and the Uncles

The cheers and the grins

And the Pernot, the cin cin

The Pims and the gin

The original sin

Is that what we’re in?

But can we bow out with grace?

Can we pack up the flowers

Unthrow the lace?

Diswrite all the invites

Descatter the rice

Reneg the confetti with

The earnest white lies?

Can we spin the march backwards

And sell back the rock?

Twist the for-better

And turn back the clock?

Mendelssohn, Wagner

What have you done?

To what have we come?

What have we become?

So finally, annulment

Or eventually divorce

And off rides her white knight

On a night coloured horse

And she cries, of a sorts

And he loves her

Of course

March 2014 Derek Wilson

three minutes to midnight

December 24th or maybe 26th, 2009. Jakarta, Indonesia. I’d been there all week, going from my hotel room, to a mall and back again. Doing a Christmas show in the mall. Just Lexi and me, running out of our small wooden dressing room 5 times a day to entertain a bunch of kids that didn’t really believe in Christmas. I’d seen nothing of Indonesia but that hotel room, the mall, the dressing room and the ever-present traffic jams…

I was restless.

Late this night I went out to a street with bars. I’d looked it up on the internet. It told me it was a street with bars. I walked in to the first one I saw, sat down, ordered a drink. Suddenly a drag queen was singing to me, in the seat next to me. Later I moved next door, or, a few doors down. A club. People dancing. Music playing. Some things are universal across cultures. Some are not. I experienced both this night.

Years later TJ and I are finishing lunch at the still very East-Germanesque cafeteria of The Funkhaus in Berlin. We walk back into the studio that he has tricked me into making an album in, and he tells me to pick up one of the guitars hanging on the wall and start playing. Anything. I pick it up and it’s in open G. I don’t know how play in open G. TJ hits record and tells me to play anyway.

I play something once and he says great, do that again. It comes out completely differently. It’s what you hear on this track. Complete improv. second go, that was it. TJ says I should do some spoken word over it. I have no idea what to do. I pull up this piece I wrote in Jakarta years before and read it out over the thing I just played. Once. I get to the end, in tears, with a big exhale. “Well that worked…”

“Yeah” says TJ, “Let’s move on”.

three minutes to midnight

Echo

I guess I should be flying out soon
Back to those places of
Skipped stones on the river
Wordless cries into the rock face
And swum beaches, even in winter
Dust bled across the sunset
Did it ever rain there?

But there’s so much to leave behind
So much, at times it seems
This is all I’ve known
And now between here and home
There’s so much water
And so many stones

October 2013 Derek Wilson

Shoes

It’s hard not to stare when they are
Standing in front of you, howling
Shrieking lines like
“I can’t help but rhyme!”
Or
“Shooooes! Shooooes!”
People. Who knew? Wtf?
We’re happy not everyone’s like Morrissey
Or Vlad the Impaler, or Mother Teresa
Or the girl shouting SHOES
But we’re glad someone is
Even if secretly
It means we are free
To be, differently

October 2013 Derek Wilson

Eyepatch

So, there’s just this little catch
A soul, a heart, snatch the lifeblood
Drain the core, bring it back
On a platter, in a chest is best
The rest? No matter
Whatever breaks the curse
There can’t be much worse
Than a life as me
When I’m all at sea

July 2013 Derek Wilson

Fuck you, filing cabinet

I’ve been searching for something
Words to describe a state of being
Concepts to claw back a semblance of meaning
Distance from edges and safety from ledges
Searching in bars and in traffic between the buses and cars
In mystery and music and mastery and memory
Or in romance and senses and sentences or sonnets
Checking under the things turned over
And the things not easily calculated
Or the bare stuff, laid out in front of us
Vagaries, impossibilities, perhapsedness, perception
Deception then, again and again
Of the self, of the soul, of the very earth, rock and roll
It seems the search may never end
But these words, however inaccurate, keep piling up

Eloquence

“Achoo!”, he said
Without a hint of irony
And only the slightest
Touch of sarcasm

May 2013 Derek Wilson

Transients

So you sit down, then stand up, and sit back down again
You move over there, then back here
You shuffle things around on the table and play with them
The cables and little speakers, the papers and disk drives
The laptop keys and the ideas of people and thoughts
Beyond the screen
You turn them off, and back on again
Drink cups of coffee, sometimes a tea, or a beer maybe
You get up, eat because you’re supposed to
You rearrange the things in your flat, the dust, the dishes
Reposition the clothes in your bedroom
Now and then you catch yourself staring out the window
Just staring, sometimes at the people in the flats opposite
Moving little things around their kitchens and bedrooms
Other times at the night sky, the streetlights, you breathe the cool air
You go outside, and come back in, or stand half in, half out
Talk to people on the phone, silently, with poor grammar
You write things down, lists and reminders
Scraps of paper with orders and instructions and numbers
Or short rhyming couplets, or not, or many
You look for things you’ve lost, and play music, and go to work
You come back here and find things and type this poem
Or sing, or make noises from objects that are around
You light little fires and watch actors act and dancers dance
And blow them out, the fires, that is
And sleep or wake up and turn in a slow circle, slightly bemused
You scratch your chin, that slow absent-minded scrape of stubble
You’re staring again
You ask yourself “what am I doing?”, occasionally
And wonder if it… hope that it will all make sense one day

May 2013 Derek Wilson

o be satisfied

o be satisfied

My new album, o be satisfied is now available on bandcamp.com. You can download for free and I’d love it if you let me know what you think.

The blackbird of J Street

A blackbird, saw I, pecking at the face of some unfortunate guy begging for a change.

I took out a nickel and a couple of crimes, spat them in his face like I was macing a child.

He cried, but at least I scared off the blackbird.

 

August 2012 Derek Wilson

Introducing the Ecklebergs

Introducing the Ecklebergs.

New site for TJ and his band. Check it out.

Skull

We took a boat out on the water one night
Started floating along the heatless river
I manned the oars while you stared up at the sky
Telling me how you weren’t afraid of dying
But maybe somewhat afraid of trying
And then we were silent, past the old boathouse
And as we glided under the broken bridge
You turned to me, slowly, shivered softly
“I’m leaving” and then left me, reeling, sinking
And it seemed like the waters, that folded in over me
Were red, or wine, and I couldn’t stop drinking
Or stem the bleeding

April 2012 Derek Wilson

Pleaxecution

You’re so painful, it’s beautiful
You give my aching a heart
I kill your love for me
So you won’t die for my art

April 2012 Derek Wilson

TJ Eckleberg’s West & Lime

TJ Eckleberg’s West & Lime

If you dig what I write, here’s my dear friend TJ Eckleberg. A poet, a pirate, a guy with something to sing about. He produced my forthcoming album in Berlin and I’d love you to have a listen to his music. It’s all free, so click above, download and enjoy! Let me know what you think in the comments.

Leaving London

This road is getting weary
It sags beneath our feet
It sighs as its miles groan
It curves gently and quietly weeps

It knows somehow we are leaving
As if it can hear us breathing
Our unlaid plans and damaged dreams
Sucking them in like vapour
Its black heart beating down a heavy sun
It knows, somehow, its time has come

This town is getting lonely
It misses us too soon
As if we’ve been away too far
Like winter sun to summer moon

It shutters its doors upon us
And we break, like so many a promise
Of unpaid dues and I love you’s
Tearing apart like paper
Our deep hearts pounding like a kettle drum
Fists beating its gates like a Gatling gun

This world is unforgiving
The earth has skipped a beat
We land inside our brother’s keep
Bringing oil to bathe its feet

But It knows where the winds are leading
Which towns will be receiving
Our battered bones and shanty songs
Our patches and parrots and silver coins
And sometimes, sometimes it stirs a breeze
To fill up our sails or occasionally
Its iron heart might just melt a degree
And swallow up a small part of you or me

February 2012 Derek Wilson

Eggshells

I climbed the great wall
I spoke in tongues
I slept in palaces
Slept in slums
I broke a promise
I cracked an egg
I slapped the bones
Of my hand to my head
Why wouldn’t you?

I dressed in cashmere
I sang a dirge
I drank an ocean
‘Cause I got the urge
I lit the fires
That signalled the fleet
To bring the heads
Of the dogs to my feet
Well wouldn’t you too?

I chased the sirens
Around the earth
I traded their love
For my right of birth
I succoured the incubus
Scuttled the ships
I drank fine whisky
From Medusa’s lips
And who cared, who knew?

I wrote you letters
I sent you things
The Shroud of Turin
And an angel’s wing
I dredged the canals
I fished the lakes
I put the head of John the Baptist
On your plate
It was something to do

I redecorated
I painted the walls
I wrote a poem about
Twenty seven mirror balls
I swashed the buckles
And swabbed the decks
I hung Saint Christopher
Round my drunken neck
And what did you do?

I raised a navy
Of pirates and dregs
I sang sea shanties
And jigged wooden legs
I stormed the castles
I stayed up late
I fired flaming arrows
At the inner gate
But where were you?

I got arrested
And charged with fate
I slammed into freedom
And took the cake
I ate it too
Who follows the rules?
They brought me to answer
Before peers and fools
And people like you

I lied to the jury
I sang like a bird
I got seven years
For crimes of the absurd
I sat in my cell
My own private hell
Wishing you nothing but
Wishing you, well
You were here too

February 2012 Derek Wilson

Jangle Doll

A track from an old album of mine…

Letter

A pile of bits, masquerading as letters
5it in a dusty digital corner
Some Ps, some Ts, Rs and Es
Waiting to be rearranged
Reassigned into something new
Yesterdays news
Some Os and Fs, the letter C
A précis, a thesis, hearsay
An alternative view
My next tattoo
Or Ds and Xs
Love you too
But what D needs now is a radio
A puppet show, a tracking device
Scraping all my little datas
Into a nice ticking packet bomb that
I can download and take home
With a Q or two, N, Ms, 3 Vs
A dictionary, give me
A moment to collect my thoughts
Like a wiki, W, V, lotss of Sss
And a J!
Ok, ok
We’re on our w-A.

June 2011 Derek Wilson

Enemy

The darkness in me
Has a tendency
To resist the light
When all I have to do
Is embrace it
It seems all I can do
Is fight

March 2011 Derek Wilson

Project 2010 – A photo a day, a poem a week

Project 2010 – A photo a day, a poem a week. So there it is, 365 photos, 52 poems, one year in one life.

The end of this month brings to the end two projects I started at the beginning of the year, simply, a photo a day and a poem a week. In embarking on a Project 365, I was attempting to learn more about photography and visual art, and challenge myself to think about creation every day. It certainly did that and more. I am far from a deep of understanding the craft and the techniques of photography as compared to one who has formally studied. Yet some friends have assisted in wonderful informal lessons, often involving a pub, a few drinks and bar full of subjects. I haven’t been using an SLR/DSLR and all that entails (yet?), having tended to focus on the idea or concept.

This year has seen a massive shift in the way photos are taken, processed and shared. In January, the phone app phenomenon was only just taking off. Hipstamatic, for example was released a few weeks before I started the project. I began using it in May. Since then many other apps have appeared that emulate many of the techniques of traditional photography and also attempt to integrate how we are now socializing into the process. Instagram is a good example of that.
But we are at the tip of the iceberg of how photography may develop in the coming years. The phone applications are bringing the elements of camera, film, the darkroom, along with digital processing, retouching and effects all together in a very simple way. I keep looking at the photos I take with my “better” camera and, while it’s by no means high-end, I see that the quality far surpasses the phone photos. Yet, something about the lower-fi photos also rings true. While they may not be a true representation of what was there, they seem to capture how I “think” it looked – they capture the magic, the moment – how we choose to see things…

Then there’s the writing project – talk about capturing only what you choose to see… I’ve gone from paper and pen to finger and screen, and back again, and back again… Each week had been a battle, a war, a chore, a reward. Every day I’ve felt like a failure, at some point, so far from my stupidly lofty ideals. Why did I start these projects? And who even cares at all if I don’t carry them through? No one but me. And so every week I’ve also felt like, not a winner, but a contender. Pulsing, punching, preaching and praying my way through the year. I aimed to develop my writing in new ways and get out of the stagnant lull I had been in. To force deadlines with public publishing so as to stop being precious about pieces.

I also had to learn no to be so precious about the process. The December photos are an example where I handed over the camera to friends for a few shots – because it completely broke my own rules.

Both these projects have taught me a lot about who I am, what I am trying to do, and how to do it. They’ve also probably opened more questions than they answered, but the impetus I started the year with has not only lasted the year, but propelled me into the new year with new ideas and directions.

I will continue adding words and pictures to these pages this year, albeit to a different timeframe. Thanks for looking. Here’s to 2011!

Delboy

Air On The Side Of Grace

He divorced his wife, he created a new life
He jumped out the window and got picked up by the sky
He heard a sad piano being played softly in the next room
It seemed to be piece about afternoons and Augusts after Junes
So he ran out into the snow, cinematically, slow motion style
Across the country, through the woods, Six Million Dollar Man like
Taking giant, sky-assisted, skipping, seven-league steps
How do you leave? (He asked) But how do you leave?
How do you give up all that you believed?
And then his brain ran dry and he ran out of words to say
And his eyes stopped up, so there were no more tears
And the spirit left him with no more ways to pray
And if he did have any, anyway
There were no more people and no more ears
Yet all around him we were sprouting wings
Flapping and flailing and misbehaving
Looking like something in-between
A gorilla in the swim and an angel felled by sin
If only he’d knew now what we know then
The penance, the price, salvation, the Zen
We err on the side of humanity, frailty and fragility
A basic lack of comprehension of what the fuck’s going on
And a general confusion over what goes wrong

So he buttons his coat and settles his debts
Takes a long hard look and a deep, deep breath
And another step and another step

December 2010 Derek Wilson

Creature, Crawling Through The Night

Creature, crawling through the night
Hunting, hurting, wounded beast
That carves survival, warm and sweet
From stone and tile and bitumen
Crawling through the haunted night
Crawling through the dimming light
Hiding within shadows, clinging
Hugging built, erected monoliths
Of awesome, soaring height
Crying in the bitter darkness
Wailing, flailing, licking wounds
Sniffing out a chosen prey
Running diabolically
Till waning moon and breaking day
Crawling through the haunted night
Crawling through the seething blight
Slaying fast while praying
For an absolution, Agnus Dei
Lying, all the while beguiling
Drawing unsuspecting victims
Crawling through their precious plight
Crawling through the haunted night

December 2010 Derek Wilson

A Darkening On The Narrows

We speak in whispers, hint and gesture in subtle, subtle tones
We row a boat across the narrows, bury secrets in dirt & ditches
Toss our soiled tools in the shallows and scamper off
Though the shadows, alone, alone

We scratch our skin with complicated stitches and patterns
Fascinating lattice laces, tracing backscatter on
Underexposed fragments of film, drinking dry pilsners
While the flashes explode, unloaded

We dress with fancy, fantastic splashes of whimsy and warmth
Enwrapped in wonder and cloth that rinses easily
Tubes that slide off slowly and layers that forgive
And forget, lie forgotten, but so close

We watch and wish through tingling ice drops and wild wind drifts
Bodies mingling, children’s tears ringing in our ears
And fears forgotten, no more, no more memories
We sink into these waters, cold and deep

December 2010 Derek Wilson

Litany #13270

I type like a hacker
I hack like a rapper
I rap like a slacker
I dance like a fool

I punch like a preacher
I preach like a dancer
I dance like a teacher
I rhyme like a rule

I drink like a fighter
I fight like a lover
I love like a writer
I pray like a rhyme

I play like a loser
I lose like a prayer
I pray like a boozer
I rhyme like a mime

December 2010 Derek Wilson

Hurricane

I was sinking down somewhere
On the Rue Chartres
Trying to catch a place
To find my breath
You know, enlightenment & peace
And those kinds of things you find
In barrels of beer and devastating
Acts of God with ladies’ names
Check in, check in again
No friends are near
Outside it’s the storm and the rain
And the racket and the rage
And no amount of barricades
Are going to stop the USA from getting in here

December 2010 Derek Wilson

Denialand

I watch TV in bars
I know some TV stars
I eat from salad bars
I watch some TV stars

Everybody’s either talking or eating
Talking, eating, spewing or drinking
Coffee, noodles, the latest googles
GMO via HBO

BMI of 43
Follow me, (don’t) follow me
We can’t connect the satellites
And the street lights
Have all gone out

Wanna know a secret?
Come with me

November 2010 Derek Wilson

No Moon/or/Moon Is Full/or/Clouds Become The Moon

Sitting here
You’d think I was sitting here forever – like
A sage, a saviour, in a Buddha/Christ pose
With rings on my fingers and sand between my toes
Because it’s summer
But summer can’t last forever and when it ends
That winter will wind and its shrill wind will blow
And I, like the sands, not structure, nor permanent
Play off the pretty colours
Making finger paintings in the firmament
Making painted scratches on this parchment
Dusty brush stroke hashes that clumsily pick up
The glancing light, the hidden bright flashes
That bounce around and off and through
The things that end and eternity
The no more, no more
And the things that continue

And finally, I look at you, posturing between reds or blues
Arms outstretched like you’re delivering The Good News
Too good to be true, a fancy fool and gone too soon
And all that’s left now, are the clouds and the moon

November 2010 Derek Wilson

Slipping Beneath A Velvet Rope

These are the days foretold
The days before we all get saved
And we are travelling down the old roads
The roads that the highways have now made obsolete
Singing those songs that will soon be forgotten
The dirges of the days foretold
We all get older and cannot help it
It is our burden and our right
But not like this
This is not how we imagined it
We always pictured something more noble
With deeds and gestures and myths
A battle, a journey or a fight
But like a God-given prophecy
We unfold with consistency
Boring our slow tunnels through the earth
Searching for the warm core
That seems, always, down one more foot
Around one more corner
Below one more stone
Worms. Moles. Blind diggers, all
These are not the days foretold!
This is a disaster!
Emergency!
Ring the bells, sound the alarm!
We are impostors, preposterous and exposed
Overfed and overdosed
Fat slugs trailing toxic slime
But it’s our time, it’s our time, it’s our time!
Please don’t turn the lights up
Please don’t turn the volume down
We whimper like prophets
Bleeding the inevitable from all-seeing eyes
As the bouncers kick our asses
From our own unfortunate lives

November 2010 Derek Wilson

Talking Like A Man On A Telephone On A Plane As It Is Crashing To The Ground

Or we could talk about other things, you know, if you want, I mean, we don’t have to talk about this now
We could change the subject, like, just chat about stuff, ok? Lighthearted stuff.
How your day went and, and how are the kids doing? Or,
Or there was this movie I just saw, it was really good, it was about this guy who got on a plane and
What’s that?
IT WAS ABOUT THIS GUY WHO GOT ON A PLANE AND
WHAT?
Oh, sorry, sorry
I know, It’s hard for me too
You know, I want to say, um, oh? Yes, yes, ok, of course, I will
But I
Yes, you’re right, of course, I’m not sure what I was thinking but
Oh sure, later, when I’m home, yes
I just think we should, well I, no I just think I should say
I, sorry? Another …? No, don’t go, I
(Oh)
(Oh no)

November 2010 Derek Wilson

Snap

Suddenly, I couldn’t take it
It was possibly the smoke
And the girl screaming “Lesbians!”
And the smell of sex, shampoo and perfume
Amongst the mess of male bravado
Young men huh? Boys, huh
Can everybody hear this song?
Can everybody sing along?
While I worry about getting older
Worry when they play Cake on the radio
And dance like a drunken soldier
These people, they all know each other
That’s the advantage they have, I suppose
Their homes are in close proximity
They share a strained familiarity
And therefore, and unfortunately
A common future

October 2010 Derek Wilson

Writers Bloc

We are striving to be writers
Battling with the fear
That our greatest masterpieces
May have already been completed
Something like
Writing the letter d
In crayon, in kindy

October 2010 Derek Wilson

Heartbeat

Sometimes it seems my clothes still wear you
Sometimes I dream my bed still shares you
Sometimes I feel much smaller than I am
Like I could comfortably fit in the palm of your hand

Sometimes my heart beats irregularly, skips
And sometimes I’m acutely aware of this
And long ignored advice that I should get that checked
And unopened referrals and random diagnoses
Exacerbated I’m sure, by addictions, insatiable
And I wonder how, in my thirties
I’ve come to believe I’m invincible

My heart skips again
This time for reasons not physical
And I’m small again
Curled in a ball again
Resting, at 90bpm
Climb the walls then
Watch the room spin
See the colours dim
Close my eyes and know
I haven’t died, again

October 2010 Derek Wilson

(slow music)

(slow music)
(smoke machines hissing)
(wolf whistle)
(laughter)
(music changes, slower, pulsing)
(someone coughing in the audience)
(people whispering nearby)
(shoes squeaking)
(music reaches crescendo)
(audience is silent)
(cheering and applause)

October 2010 Derek Wilson

Beautility

Let me be the angel
Let me bear the wing
Take me in and let me sin
Make tea while I unravel
A gypsy on the travel
Trying to find a beat and a rhyme
And shine a light within

Let me drive the nails
Let me drain the man
Wipe me clean then let me bleed
Pay penance for all these deeds
That satisfy all my needs
Then bring out the golden fatted calf
It’s time for me to feed

Let me be the author
Let me twist the plot
Write me up and spin me some
We’ll dervish through this bright night
Spilling sins like a hell-sprite
Singing hymns of grace and redemption
A gypsy on the run

Let me walk on water
Let me scam the swim
Fill my sails with aims and airs
Steady as she goes, matey
We, resurrected lately
Shall gypsy till our redeemer comes
An angel, false or fair

October 2010 Derek Wilson

Not To Be Used As

See, I am not here
I am froZen, suspended
A pea in a packet
A spaceman in an escape pod
I am not breathing, much
Be my life support
Arrest me, terrestrial me
I got my hands up
And I’ll be dangling on that rope
Swinging, sink or swimming
Drowning in a sea of hope
See, I am not surfacing
Be my floatation device

September 2010 Derek Wilson

Oh Rejection

Let it rain a thousand storms down
Let it drench these Northern places
Let it bleed out over the doorways
Let it dampen the very light of day
Let it rain a thousand storms down

It shall burn with the passion of the sun
It shall rage until all is overcome
It shall scorch even the soaken sky
It shall not douse until kingdom come
It shall burn with the passion of the sun

Let it ripple and rattle and shake
Let it break your dry, brittle bones
Let it shatter every unturned stone
Let it turn the world upside down
Let it ripple and rattle and shake

It shall be disease and infection
It shall be stroke, aneurysm, heart attack
It shall be not the resurrection
It shall be plague and swift and black
It shall be disease and infection

Let it rain a thousand storms down
Let it pour and flood this town
Let it drive us all underground
Let it know it has won this round
Let it rain a thousand storms down

September 2010 Derek Wilson

Graverobbers

n8k99 sometimes write songs incorporating words I’ve written.
Here is one of them:

http://nacreo.us/2010/07/22/graverobber/

Have a listen and enjoy!

August

August

This time, first obtain a soul with longing
Opening a place of old immortality
That lately I was waiting for
Look both ways hombre
Do no changing
No diversion
Beware of economic security and
Flashback caution safety
History is natural
And your savage tracks, a system
Dress up and dance
Love music because
I got seats to the same slow stage
For the painted poet blows grit to all

The way was made easily
No warning in use
No exit avenue
No desperate lamentation
We see only love
Do not stop
Roar up the chain
Be something superb
Original
I am the target
Super slide in, to life

September 2010 Derek Wilson

You can see the individual photos here: http://gallery.me.com/delboywilson#gallery

http://delboywilson365.wordpress.com/

Housefire

My heart is a fire front
It takes my centre stage
It bears the wrath
It breeds the rage
It tears these words
Right from the page

My head is a behemoth
It is a roaring bear
It stands alone
It fights alone
It fells the woods
And fouls the air

My hands are a dancer
And sometimes an actor
Sometime slacker
Often hacker
A fucking clown
With X-Factor

And then, I am façade
A miracle of wit
That face the wind
That grace the wall
And likes to climb
But climbs to fall

September 2010 Derek Wilson

Firehouse

It looks like rain
It’s getting dark
Do you know Dave Grohl
From the Foo Fighters?
Do you know Thuma Urman?
Here look, that’s Dave Grohl
He fucked my friend
She’s a ballerina
But she’s beautiful

She spoke
I guess

And then I said nothing
You couldn’t say
Without words

August 2010 Derek Wilson

Mist

This stargazing evening
Has wrapped itself in a
Blanket of cloud and
Turned inwards to
Candlelight and slow drinking
I can smell green tea
Steaming in a ceramic bowl
And wonder what she is sensing now
In two nights she will
Kiss me for the first time
But tonight, I’ll just miss her
And wonder if I’ll ever be able
To return to this moment

August 2010 Derek Wilson

Thought Pattern

I thought that you could stretch me about a thousand miles wide
I thought that you could test me through a myriad of trials
I thought that you could burn me in a multitude of fires
I thought that you could raze me and not I, I will survive
I thought that you could lure me with insatiable desire
I thought that you could dress me in astonishing attire
I thought that you could tempt me with uninhibited wiles
I thought that you could trust me through a million or so lies
I thought that you could five to one me, baby, one in five
I thought that you could help me to get out of here alive
I thought that you could seek me when I ran away to hide
I thought that you could throw me with the Christians to the lions
I thought that you could punch me in the face until I cried
I thought that you could walk on water, dancing with the tide
I thought that you could know me just by looking in my eyes
I thought that you could calm me down when anxious I arise
I thought that you could paint my name with stardust in the skies
I thought that you could reincarnate me a hundred lives
I thought that you could trap me with intelligent designs
I thought that you could cast a spell on me with ancient rhymes
I thought that you could lash me to the mast when sirens cry
I thought that you could maybe take me to the other side
I thought that you could rise again when others only die
I thought that you could save me, I thought at least, you’d try

August 2010 Derek Wilson

Sherlock Holmes

Even then, while we were walking
Discussing the weather and things
And such and “oh, did you know?”
And “do you suppose?”
No, no, I nod, but don’t show
I want to be homeless
I want to sneak out of this
Pedestrian conversation
And just, this, in general
Dirtied up and down dressed
Disheveled and distressed
There’s a TV crashing through
A window, but really
It’s identity, infinity, illusion
So the detective must ask questions
Of the gathered, around the body
“Did you know the deceased?”
I looked down, he was virtually
Unrecognisable now, a mess on the
Footpath to be swept away
I looked back up
Did I know the deceased?
Man, you are talking to him

August 2010 Derek Wilson

The World Turned Upside Down

One day the world turned upside down
And then it started raining
We sang old songs as the sun
Submerged, sizzling like a cigarette
Extinguished in a glass of wine. The end.

July 2010 Derek Wilson

I’ve Thought

I’ve thought
Short
I’ve thought long
I think I love crying
Feeling, wrong
As to melody
A song
This pain and I
Belong

July 2010 Derek Wilson

On Parameters

I’m observing that there are some questions and answers I’m experiencing from both my daily photo project and weekly poem project.

I post the photos daily to my blog but monthly on facebook. Why monthly? I guess it’s neat, an easy, organised system that is also pretty easy for friends and family to take in. Substantial yet not too much at one time. I wonder what that says about me. So I observe. I do like a level of structure, organisation, placement etc… I like to know where things are and what’s coming up. Yet I also love to jam, improvise, be spontaneous, get messy.

This has led me to thinking about parameters in art. Particularly self-imposed parameters. A large driving force behind my projects this year was some words of artist Chuck Close discussing the ideas behind working at your art all the time regardless of whether you feel inspired or not. How it forces you to make choices, throw things out, head in different directions. I imposed these large parameters on myself to see where it would take things and get away from the idea that art is like an outside force waiting to strike you, but rather that it’s inside all the time and working at it all the time changes one from an artist hoping a good idea will appear to an artist coming up with ideas constantly. Sure some of those ideas are terrible, but the amount of good ideas that result from this intensity of work far outweighs the amount of good ideas that just ‘struck’.

Suddenly the parameters have a dramatic impact on the work. Where I was writing the odd poem here or there, sometimes going months without writing a thing, now I write something every week. The added parameter of publishing online means that that something is ‘finished’ too. I can always go back and reuse or reinterpret those words again if I feel like it, but there’s also a sense of moving on to the next one.

Then I’m observing the effect of parameters within each project. I started the photo project with only the aim of taking an ‘interesting’ photo every day with my compact Fujifilm F70 digital camera. For the first four months I just snapped away and worked on observing ordinary things and situations for interesting angles. The in May I made some software and hardware additions to my iPhone and decided I would only use them for that month. This caused a completely different look to the month when compared to a previous month, so for the next month I decided to use either camera but had loose theme of ‘walls and surfaces and what ideas get projected upon them’. I found it pretty hard some days and got to the end of the month thinking I needed to loosen the parameters again.

That’s where this whole thing is really starting to get interesting for me, where questions are being raised – in taking all the inner parameters back off, I’m feeling directionless (with the photos) this month. I’ve already come up with a theme for next month and am looking forward to exploring it. (Why must I be doing this in months? – another of the questions I need to explore…)

Back in the land of words, this month I rediscovered a very similar technique of placing a theme of sorts on a series of poems. This quite naturally fell to a month as I wrote a poem with the title ‘I’ll Sing’ and decided to write the next few poems starting with the title, each title starting with another I’ contraction. As there are only four in common use it all turned out quite neatly and in tune with what I’ve been thinking about the photos. I’ve used this title idea before, where each title was one word and ended in ‘cast’ – Outcast, Forecast, Broadcast etc… and constructed the piece from there.

I am reminded this month to think on the parameters I am setting and work on creating new and varied ones to open up different directions.

July 2010 Derek Wilson

I’d Leave

I’d leave
As in, leave about then
While you were playing
Fuzz guitar and him, fuzzy bass
And people were about, coming
In and out, in and out
And I was all over the place
Leaving this place, but
If I ever had a trace to leave
I hope I left one here
And while there wasn’t even time
To look behind or spill a tear
I hope you know, how dear
How dear

July 2010 Derek Wilson

I’m Ugly

And you’re uncouth
And he’s uneducated
And they’re unbelievable
And she’s underwhelming
And I’m up myself
And none of us know the truth
And all of us tell lies
All of us tell lies
All of the time
Especially me

July 2010 Derek Wilson

I’ll Sing

I’ll sing, you hit record
You’ll see what I’m thinking
Just make sure you hit
The red button

July 2010 Derek Wilson

Usurper

Our mother was known as the man in the moon
She went down in flames one night when the sun rose too soon
She was always overly dramatic with her antics and hysterics
We watched her drink the Indian Ocean and left her to the paramedics
Now we’re waiting for you to get into position and reproduce our popular opinions
Carve up onions, potatoes and meats and leave what’s left for the beggars to eat
And leave what’s right for the beggars to fight over
Quick, someone’s coming, kiss me like a lover and leave me too in this alley by the dumpster
Rise up, rise up, take your place in the stars
Rise up, new mother, dear mother of ours

June 2010 Derek Wilson

Song Of Purchase II

A man once bought a heater
It cost him 37 dollars 89
He took it home and plugged it in
It seemed to work just fine

It had two different heat settings
And another one that said cool
Which made him wonder if it was a heater
Or perhaps a multi-weather tool

There were two different fan speeds
And when he turned it on
It made a pleasant kind of whir
Like a cat’s purr, a gentle hum

He flipped through the instructions
Without really reading a word
Noting the Chinese and German
And a language of which he was unsure

Then, stretching out in its warmth
Submitting to its seductive tread
He nodded still to a slumber
And never again did raise his head

June 2010 Derek Wilson

Spametry

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June 2010 Derek Wilson

actually-

how r u?
here now it’s 2:36am
it’s… too late to msg…
i’m feeling no good…
so just thinking of u…
and i am thinking of u, sometimes

i am so tired
so tired… in my life
i dont want to talk about my feelings
so I can’t msg u…
pain in my head
just enough
i dont know my thinking myself…
everthing
just my thinking is enough

everyone is sad
do u know/?
i am not sad
but everyone sad
i am just watching
and just-

i dont want to talk something
i just want to hold the arm of somebody to me-

and i want u to enjoy over there
go to the club
and sleep with woman
because… this is so much answer
u know…

and pain in my head
no drink today… but
i want, need drink
drunk feeling everytime
too slight headache

i’m just sad
this is stupid
just want to talk, i am sad
but this i can’t
because i need more detail…
so i am thinking
detail, detail, detail

i’m thinking my fault
so i am sad now
one question is so much answer…
you know
so i want no question
i am just understanding everything
i want to make a story…
just don’t want to make some story
do u know.>?

i want sleep
but
now 3:24am

i am just need hope
i am just want hope
u know…
no hope, no continuance life…
because i am so
dark my thinking….

one question is so much answer…
so i want no question

June 2010 Derek Wilson

We Get Old

She mentions that her hands don’t even work anymore
Like her fingers are made of hard plastic
Like it’s not such a big deal
Just the almost last item on a long list
Of things that have slowly stopped working
“Don’t make me cry.” she says
As I hold her trembling hands coated in dry skin
That used to take me from my mother’s arms
And brush the hair out of my eyes
Or hand me back my lost teddy bear
Or make me a glass of orange soda
And I can’t talk, I can only look back at her
Noticing there are some things that won’t make that list
Her tears, for one, still seem to be working just fine

May 2010 Derek Wilson

Graverobber

Bones, bones, broken bones
He has bones and she has bones
How many bones do I have, hmm?
Let’s take back the fear
Demand a recount or
Return it for a refund
“Murderer! Murderer!” they cry
Well they can cry all they want
Cry to the wind
While we’ll be off scot-free
Dancing with our fancy bones
And all that stuff
That oozing, seeping, stenching stuff
That drips from your fingertips
Slicks back your hair
And glistens your lips
Bones, bones, bloody bones
They got theirs
I got mine
How many bones you got?
Hmm?

May 2010 Derek Wilson

Bushranger

Eyes don’t sparkle like they used to
Hands don’t tremble like they should
Pockets, now empty, shall soon be full
Don’t cry lovely, no tears, no bloodshed
Put your hands up

May 2010 Derek Wilson

Wordjacking

For the second time, my mate n8k99 has hijacked a lyric I’ve put up. I really like it, I feel he understood what I was trying to say and then created his own unique take on it. Check it out here:

You Are My One And Lonely – music

The original post is here:

You Are My One And Lonely – words

Fireworks

I do declare, I do despair
Of finding things more heft than the air
That beats against a ragged wing
Redirects a tattered tail
Causing outpourings of panicked prayer
On takeoff and flight and landing

That is to say, I do dismay
Of finding nights more sheen than the day
That envies sibling’s sparkling light
Dreaming of her glittered veil
And the fires of passion and play
That under her long shroud, ignite

So I impart, I do disheart
Of finding ends more soon than the start
That precedes every bow and bend
Every ripple of the trail
Every path, shortcut, map, piece and part
Of any sanct way I ascend

May 2010 Derek Wilson

is bored

Bored
You’re bored
You’re bored?
You have nothing to do?
You have nothing that interests you right now?
You are about to die and you are bored?
You have like, a minute left. Or a day
Perhaps a week
Or, or a hundred years
That’s barely a lifetime!
So you’re almost done and yet, none
That’s it, you don’t come back
Certainly not like this
That is it, you are gone
But now, this 1/3155695200th of your life
Nothing
Or this 1/31556952nd?
Still nothing
And it’s slipping, slipping, shearing
But what do you do?
What can you do?
All you can do is write stuff, like:
I’m bored, bored, bored
I’m Bored! I’m Bored!
I’m fucking bored!
Iam board! Eyem bord!
Aiem boored!
You write it pen or in pencil
In crayon or texta
On notepads and sketchpads
On large sheets of butcher’s paper
On smartphones, on dumbphones
On laptops and tabletops
And hilltops
You carve it in stone
And cover walls with it in paint
You get it tattooed on your wrist
And lasered on a grain of rice
You hand out business cards
That look like this:

You get it written into the constitution
And commissioned as a work of art
You jump into an aeroplane
And loop cloudy cursive letters
Across the clear blue sky
And the peoples of the whole earth
Look up in wonder and sigh
As you parachute down
Dropping pamphlets and brochures
That say it over and over
And you land in a strange forest
Or maybe a colosseum
And climb up the mountain
Or the stands
Or the ruins that you find
And collapse
And cry softly up at darkening sky
As your tears start to mingle with the
Warm evening storm
I’m so bored, I’m so bored
So bored

May 2010 Derek Wilson

You Are My One And Lonely

Do you see how we love? What it means, what it means
Do you see how we cry? Do you feel what we feel?
And does it matter? Do we matter? Does any of it matter?
So then, we love. I might love him, I might love her
I might love Rain, or June or Cha Cha, Jack or Isabel
And then we might go here or there, or to Wuhan, or to Jigalong
Maybe we like Heavy Metal or Jazz or listen to Opera at sunset
Perhaps we dance, clumsy, funny, drunk or not
Perhaps we sing, or fuck, or do stupid things like
Run through the plaza being chased by security guards
Because we thought we could climb inside the giant Christmas tree
Did we offend you with that? Did you even notice us?
Do you see how we weep? And sleep with each other
Make love and mess equally and desire each other
Or someone else frequently and need and need
When does it stop? But do you see? Do you see?
When you look up or around, do you know?
Is there here, significance? Is there here, tenor?
Do we sing with tune and relevance?
Or are we playing House or Snap or Monopoly
Or Risk or Chess or Catch & Kiss?
Do you like these games? Did you make them up?
And how do you see me? How do you see me?
Am I a pawn or a Queen? Am I your goal or a daydream?
Am I making a scene or fitting right in?
Am I bathing in righteousness or is righteousness a sin?
But what I really want to know is, do you like what I’m wearing?
And how about these two left shoes on my stinking feet
Stumbling and tripping down this lonely street?

April 2010 Derek Wilson

Sunrise Into LAX

Dream again, sleeping and waking
Walking once more off the wing
And falling, floating, down, down
Shortly past the fuselage and jet engine
And then nothing, nothing, nothing at all
But wind resistance and clouds and fear
But now she is leaning over, reaching
Gently shaking and speaking
With words I am slow to recognise
“Chicken or fish?”, “Coffee or tea?”
Was it all a bad dream?
But I smell like that fish and am wet
And having difficulty breathing
For all this water that sits in my lungs
At least, the seaweed is pretty
Pretty, pretty, slowly sinking passenger
For your own safety, please remain submerged
Until the Captain switches off your light
We hope you enjoyed your flight

April 2010 Derek Wilson

!#

!# !#
… ; ; /
(:.) –
!/ !#

!# .?
“,’,”
.,,’!
“:;:”

?/ !#
-‘,,,-
/:/, ///
. ; !#

April 2010 Derek Wilson

On Writing A Poem That Sounds Like This, Using Words Such As:

Gambit and armpit, swallow, hollow and insatiable
Or sachet, satchel, attaché, épée, or knee
Then perhaps, perhaps not, then knock, knew and knowledge
Even wrought, rort, cot, loose, potato, QWERTY, humanoids, layered and sum
Prune, pruned, prunes, patchwork, placebo, apportioned and facetious all could be used
Also also and and and hachigatsu and stop
And probably possibly, certainly never, definitely not and maybe E-Type
Followed by followed, flowed, fowl, fowled, fowler, follower and following, following
And following following, following, numb
Or words like fun and drain but together
Fundrain or mashed up, octuplettuce or qua
As in, words started but not finished
Demoliti, being another one of those

And then the next stanza could start with
And then the next stanza could start with
And have long words like embellishmentalism and elaboratation
And short words like short, words and like
And just bits of words, q, k, ff, eu or ‘
Even dispensing with words entirely for a while and

:

(                        )

And then, the final line would of course be something like
And then, the final line would of course be something like

April 2010 Derek Wilson

Re: Confession

Well, sometimes I forget what country I’m in
And sometimes I can’t tell the difference between a crime and a sin
And then sometimes I forget what you were drinking 
And sometimes I, sometimes I, what was I thinking?
I obsess. I obsession. I acquaint. I attrition. I acquiesce, I listen
I confess and depress and use words like “transgress”
Sometimes I even, well no, that would be cheating
So then I upset, I unbalance, I upend and undo.
I, undone.
One Zero Zero  One One One One
One Zero Zero  One Zero Zero Zero
Zero One Zero  Zero Zero Zero One

March 2010 Derek Wilson

Sunrise Into SYD

I want to complain again
I want to smash heads
And rattle cages
And say “fuck” a lot
I want to be meaner than I am
I want to slam faces
Into those rattled cages
And throw stuff on the ground
And puff myself up
And say “shit damn!”
“Mother fucker!”
I want to be beaten up
And just when they think I’m done
I want to bounce back
And smash someone!
I want to have some fucking fun!
I w a n t t o u n r a v e l….
I want to come undone
Like your Mum
I want to stamp my feet
And come across all mad and bad
And look wasted and smacky
And loose my head and my shit
Somewhere in The Cross
And be lost and be found
Punched up by pigs and bouncers
And be messed up, be tossed
Again to the ground
Ah! I want to be around
When they add up the cost
I want to be the one they blame
Lay it on me bro!
I want to cut my hair
And my arm and be cool
And I want you to look at me
Like you don’t understand me
Like I’ve stepped on
Or stepped over
Some line you hold dear
Some fear, some passion, some love
And like everything that you hate
Is tattooed right here on my face

I want to erase you and, and, and
Be erased by you or something
Or atoned, or something, I don’t know
I want to pick myself up
And put myself down

You, you fucking clown
You fucking clown

March 2010 Derek Wilson

Aeroport

Here I am again, writing words on a phone, with a pen
Can’t read the screen anymore
Into the bin with the bottles of all those liquids that are not bombs
Those not fires and the not weapons
Take my shoes, take my ticket, take my time and my pulse
It beats, it beats unsteadily above the constant background noise yawn
Above the roaring arrivals and screaming departures it beats
Then there’s these heavy eyelids camped around sandy, sticky eyeballs
With faintly luminous, red rims – classic aeroplane attire
Squatting inside CatchyName! magazine
Fasten seat belt while seated, 安坐时请扣上安全帶
Waiting for them to call row numbers like auctioneers dressed in clown costume

27D. Excuse me, excuse me
Then up, up and far, far away

I could look down at the rapidly shrinking houses and streets and street lights
I might even recognise what part of what city I am passing over this time
But I’m writing this thing in my head and in danger of forgetting it
Or some of it and need to write it down
Can’t find my phone anywhere though
And then the engines are screaming so sweetly
Tolling the roaring song of the rolling sky
And the tempo is beating, but it beats so slowly
Enchanting, hypnotising, sleepy
It beats, it beats, so steady, as she goes

March 2010 Derek Wilson

Soapbox

Getting up
Soapbox
Speaking the truth
Get back in line

Getting ripe
Shiraz
Bending the truth
The wisdom of wine

Standing up
Doc boots
Kicking out tunes
Stumbling on rhyme

Working late
Lager
Breakers and dunes
The whimsy of time

Oh no, oh no

Working up
Fever
Sweating the heat
Soaking in style

Packing up
Put down
Placing these feet
Mile after mile

Picking up
Shake down
Dancing and song
Getting it right

Going out
Dressed up
Getting it wrong
Goodnight, goodnight

March 2010 Derek Wilson

Lightning Bug

It’s hot here too
This unbearable south
She smiles and jokes
As the corners of her mouth
Turn like the weather
But I can’t take a hint
I’m struggling to breathe
And find it harder to think
Been drunk for weeks
And now the hangover hits
She looks like she has been crying
I’m way ahead of the beat
But she looks like she thinks I am lying
And my heart sinks
I can’t take a hint
Her eyes look at me
Like they’re trying to speak
And these eyes of mine
Try to mimic her rhyme
They pick up the tune
But the lyrics are wrong
In this drought of music
I’m irrigated with song
Trying to drown down
The noises of history
And then, there’s distraction
Like a sparklering shimmer
Crazed, heat-hazed flight paths
Of glimmering glitter
Glancing and fanciful
Dancing, distorted
Tracing mystic words
In a magical order

February 2010 Derek Wilson

Yellow Wings Beat

I have here, two matchsticks
And the side of a box
And down there
Is a pile of failure
Dusted in sulphur

February 2010 Derek Wilson

She Only Appears In Overdrive

What would Jesus do?
Would he play the blues?
Kicking jams with money changers
Upturned tables
Coins sprinkle down
I wonder, I’m confused
The voice of rage
Or the voice of ruin?

Her underwear begging
For a dollar or two
Looks like salvation
Is fighting back
With Jim and Jesus
And gentleman Jack
On an SM58
It’s all too late

It’s all too late mate
Go home and sleep
Your mothers worry
And Mary weeps
And Grandma sweeps
Like there’s nothing wrong
But you know
You know

You know what’s right
You know what’s not
And you know that nothing
Matches anymore
But she’s knocking at your door now
You force yourself to answer, somehow
She draws you out
Rolls the stone away
And says “Hey babe,
wanna peek?”

February 2010 Derek Wilson

Plastic

It get hot, it get hot
You are what you are
You not what you not

What this thing?
This plastic
This horrible
It plastic
You not it
Not this
You stop, you stop

It get plastic
Don’t want
Don’t want this
Not not
You not this
It get horrible
Please stop
What is this?

Don’t do this
Do not this
Please stop
Please stop
What it want?
What it not?
It get not what it want
It not stop, it not stop

It get hot, it get hot
You not what you are
You want what you not

February 2010 Derek Wilson

Fanfare

Rub your eyes and re-analyse
It’s too late to trade places
Wait, wait, but quickly

Though there is no time but the present
And no greater pleasure than inky skin
And bending string
Than your wandering
Than the mess that you’re in
Than this passion, this sin

So will the band now play?

A dirge, then a hymn
Then an air
Then the anthem

January 2010 Derek Wilson

Thoughts They Send To My Head

In a theatre, a play*
In an actor, a character
Talking about simple things
Common things
People walking down a street
Talking, kissing, arguing
Over common things

Visualise: street fairs, festivals
Grungy urban suburbs
Newtown, Surry Hills
I am there, momentarily
But still watching the actor

Impressions, dreams
Sights, sounds, smells
A curious, playful blend
Hot dogs and fairy floss
Beer and felafel
Face paint and cut grass
Tobacco, cooking and pot 

People in hats
Out of focus rides
Laughing and colour
And confetti

Remember:
It is easy to forget
That life’s not just all about
The razzle-dazzle

January 2010 Derek Wilson

*Words They Make With Their Mouths by Tim Spencer

Three Minutes To Midnight

22:59 I walk in off the slippery streets and the crowd turns to look me up and down and there’s a girl in my line throws up smoke in my face like a hooker and my space is feeling all cramped up and noisy and raced but it’s ok. It’s ok.

23:23 I’m on beer number two or three and feeling more comfortable and as the band plays a rumble she asks me to dance or at least a semblance, I say thanks, but no thanks, that’s not why I came here tonight. She says ok, that’s ok.

23:55 Some guy looks me in the eye like he knows me or someone who looks like me or knows me and starts talking like he’s in a dream, lips dance without sounds even when he shouts. It’s about this time I become thankful that I can lip-read.

23:56 I walk back onto glimmering streets looking for something to eat, not hungry, just scared and in need of some air and the rain feels good on my skin, cleansing, like some kind of late night, polluted baptism and I feel like I’m going to be ok.

23:57 If there’s one thing I remember it’s to keep repeating, over and over, over and over, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok.

January 2010 Derek Wilson

Of Tragedy

It feels like I could write a whole movie from any day of my life
These characters I meet all suffice 
Every nuance they possess is screen ready, life like

I could write endlessly about their ambitions and ability
And wax cliché lyrically about their agility and expressions

“You can’t go backwards,” she says as her eyebrows dance 
Around the upwardly mobile steam reaching high
From the lip of her sweet black espresso
“you actually can’t go backwards.
There’s no such thing. It’s just forwards in reverse.”

She exhales

But then I can’t see where I’m going and I’m tired
I guess I am crashing now anyway 
Not long left for me of this day

Wake up, what do you want me to say?
As if I could say to you what you want me to
As if I could know, read your flirty mind
It feels like the deal is already done
It feels like you’re leaving before you’ve even begun

Intention, convention, expectation
Feasting and libation 
The buffer below means I can’t get drunk enough
Can’t get sunk enough

This stupid head is spinning now
And falling down, falling down
These deformed eyes are grazing you
This deformed heart is weeping and leaping too
Turn the radio on, there’s that song again

Pull the handbrake, mash reverse
Raise your hands up
Slow motion, of course

January 2010 Derek Wilson

If I Were A Girl

I am the darkness to her light
She is the passion to my plight
She is my wind, she is my rain
I am her drought and her disdain

I am her doubt and mortal sin
She is the holy light within
She is an air, a halo bright
I am her plague and curse and blight

I am the anger to her joy
She is the female to my boy
She is perfume and she is soap
I am her cause of dying hope

I am the awesome contradict
She is the truth, she is perfect
She is the answer and the name
I am her spot, her stench, her stain

I am the vacuum to her breath
She is animating death
She is animal and woman
I am nothing, I am a man

November 2009 Derek Wilson

Avalokiteśvara

All these things in my hands
Look at all these things in my hands
I am seated, contemplated
With my many, many things
But then what matter are these things
And what matters but this moment?
So shall I part my fingers and turn my palms
And all these things shall slip and fall to the earth and shatter
And what do they matter?
They are but memories
Dust now scattered
Would I cry for their worthless fragments?
Should my eyes shed precious tears
For their broken bits now swept away?

But what if you then give yourself to me
And I want to receive you in these empty hands
And feel the sensation of your touch rippling
Through five thousand finger tips?
If I could take you, could I keep you in my hands
Making sure you don’t shatter
Or would they turn again and would you too slip though?
Would I break you?

And look, so many eyes
My many, many eyes
Would even one of them even cry?

November 2009 Derek Wilson