Hunter Green

Preamble - whilst reflecting on all things green (my favourite colour), from politics to energy production, I looked up the HTML code and name of the particular colour green I favoured. It was called Hunter Green, and it just so happens that there are many businesses featuring this name in my area. So, I factored them into my thoughts and the poem that resulted.

 

Shades of Hunter Green

Yesterday I felt that I was Hunter Green,

a most deep and meaningful shade

a solid definition of my current state of mind

my values and feelings towards this earth

and the troubles that we humans have

continually visited upon our solar satellite.

Today I will paint the terrain of Sunshine,

not literally as an artist of course

but as a Hunter Green landscaper

delivering Lake Macquarie residents with

eco balanced domestic vistas and native trees

that will help this earth continue to breathe and survive.

Tomorrow I will undertake equities research

as a Hunter Green institutional broker

delivering quality analysis to corporate investors

for whom I will also produce astounding

commentary on topical investment themes

for our monthly Cane Toad (electronic) magazine.

Next week I will start to construct my Hunter Green

sustainable home using recycled, local,

durable and non off gassing materials to reduce

waste, pollution and environmental degradation,

and match them with efficient energy and water systems

all using natural resources for both heating and light.

Next month on e-bay I will sell all manner of goods,

in that most attractive shade of Hunter Green,

from jewellery featuring nature’s rare stones

such as malachite, tourmaline and verdite

to appealing high healed dyed leather pumps

geared to those discerning buyers of fashion and style.

Then I will start to plan how I can spend my final years

of life in the Hunter Green Retirement Village

where I will reminisce on lost opportunities past

to give something back to this fragile earth

and trust there are still committed younger souls

to prolong and permeate the essence of feeling Hunter Green. 

 

 

Living In Obi City

 Living In Obi City

She was not born this unattractive,

nobody is, since personal beauty

exists as a quixotic and charismatic

statement, embracing a journey

of the mind in a private, yet public,

exposition of the totality of a series

of complex individual traits, not just

the measured proportions bare

of playboy flesh and bone,

exhibited with abandon,

TV accredited silken locks

or expensive catwalk couture.

Yet it seems she has tried her best

(or should that be her worst?) to minimise

any naturally conferred attributes

a seemingly sad, lost personality

trapped in a droopy double chin

extreme folds of flabby flesh testing

the tensile strength of Chinese polyester,

an unkempt, straggling mane

an unshielded, yawning chasm

this scowling mouth and stubby digits

struggling to text a breath of life

into her cellular support system.

And there’s the axiomatic rub,

for whilst I recognise the simplistic

flaws of appraisal by appearance,

yet I sit as judge, jury and even

now as her public executioner

I have already implicitly, inhumanly

sentenced her to the populist scrap heap,

despise her visual pollution

question her personal integrity

her ability to exist in a society

idolising its beautiful people;

so hard for her to be obese and me to be PC.

 

Eight Fifteen

 

Eight Fifteen

Its epicentre at two hundred metres above target Hiroshima’s

T shaped river bridge obliterates buildings in temperatures more

than sun hot, vaporises unsuspecting human fodder before they even hear

an explosion, creates cyclonic winds of mass destruction, crystallises

roof tiles and remnant brick, warps and distorts

massive iron bank shutters

paints perfect people shadows

on city centre flagstones

scorches garden earth

propels screeching

atomic glass shard

missiles

ripping flesh

from the lucky ones

almost out

of harm’s way

inescapable heat

blistering

bloating

bodies

invisible radiation

mutating

minds

of generations

future bred

unavoidable

museum memories

trapped

in a pocket watch

stopped

at eight fifteen

 

 

.

Bella Vista Sunset

 Bella Vista Sunset

Progressively fading fingers, once bright orange,

now subtle shades of grey dusk light,

gently fondle the low lying, nimbus rain clouds

final floating remnants of an earlier storm,

still lazily dispersing in an autumn auburn setting sun

that slowly slips in surrender across the narrow crack

twixt the cloud base and those mountains hazy blue.

These sky born tints mimic the ever rising shadows,

whose sterile shards of silent darkness

steadily swarm from a cooling earth,

to scale thick trunks and embrace tightly

and totally the tall stand of Sydney Blue Gum,

ah yes, eucalyptus saligna,

nature’s own indigenous serene statues,

proudly profiling the ridge on the near horizon

against that ephemeral ginger backcloth,

sentinels guarding the suburban tranquillity

of this historic Bella Vista Farm.