HOME WEEKLY ROMANTIC POEM
FOR Tuesday, 21 November 2000
weekly (philosophical of sorts) poem -
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I enjoy
visiting exotic places
on your body
and sending postcards
to myself
saying
"wish you were here"
(c) Terrell Neuage (Adsit
pre-August-1981) ~ Adelaide South Australia 1996
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3.
Where my kisses meet
my dreams
4.
Pick a dream and stay
awake in it
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I was staying at a camping ground a
few moments out of Hilo
when first I saw her running toward
me
Then in kisses and embraces she
enveloped me
She had some white slip thing on that
girls
in the '60s wore
and of course bells, beads and scent of
sandalwood and
patchouli oil.
Then she kissed my feet and said she had
waited
all her life for me.
I couldn't wait another moment to have
her
and did in a cloud of frankincense and
myrrh.
She said I was surrounded in white light
as she lit up some Maui-wowie and took
more psilocybin
She even dubbed me Saint Terrell
and for decades later she addressed me
that way...
Now the world seems so different from
those magical days in Hawaii 25 years ago
Now no one calls me Saint Terrell:
Not me kids
me friends
tax office
neighbours
nor the ex-thingie (who writes me 'dear
shithead')
Chialeah visited me in New Orleans and
Los Angles
in the '70s and rambled on about other
lives
realms, bodies (the one she had now was
enough for me),
dimensions
It was all peu de chose to me
Her body and responses throughout the
nights-days-weeks...
was enough for every life, dimension,
body...
She wanted my soul
I just wanted more of her body (the
physical one she had with
her then)
an equal trade in any man's book
(eternity for a good fuck).
I have no idea where in the world she is
if at all she is on this planet
or whether in fact she now has my soul
(I've sold, traded and given it away so
often ~ whom ever ends
up with it is a loser for sure)
Maybe her daughters whose father(s)
could have been any number of us saints
are here still (as my dreams reveal)
But every once in awhile
when the day gets to me just a bit too
much
I remember her
whispering
'Saint Terrell'
and my satisfied body and I escape
smiling
one more time.
(c) Saint Terrell Neuage (Adsit - alias Brother Arthur) Victor Harbor South
Australia 1993.
As far
as I could imagine
was
never far enough
to
place me here.
I was
prospecting in a small town up north
(Papunyu in the Northern Territory)
The
circus had left a small tent behind.
I
peeked inside, looking for adventure.
There
was a gypsy sitting naked in front
of a
crystal ball she was fondling.
She had
my portrait tattooed on her breasts...
it was
impossible not to notice - even for a man.
She
said my future was mapped in my hands
would I
put them on my portraits
to know.
I
remembered her from some distant shore
(when
we were children it was her dolls
I had
sacrificed to Aphrodite
during
mass and she never forgave)
I
didn't want my future told
I knew
where all the doors were
AND
THAT IS ALL ONE NEEDS TO KNOW TO GET OUT
As I
left the tent
I felt
Chiron's hot laughter behind me
and
turned just in time to watch the tent
disappear
into the screaming mist
Before
long I did forget it all
until
tonight when my concupiscent concubines
came
home and said a gypsy was looking for me
to tell
my future
she was
no longer smiling.
Now I
know it is my end because I sacrificed
to the
wrong god so long ago
like
all men do to bring about their end
Storiette
#7 4-17-94 Victor Harbor SA
That
rusted moment
too long in the rain
No shelter could be found to save it for
now
When she said good-bye
I thought she was just going
to the afternoon's feminist rally
I even baked you some tofu cookies
('sorry the bottoms were burnt')
and ironed your culottes
('excuse the hole dear, I'm just a man')
But there was baseball on the television
all that day - and football to follow
Of course no real man would join them
The beer was cold, the guys were over
the ladies were paid for...
How was I to know that their rally
was opposed to men taking a bite of life?
And that she would never return
Now I think of her and the '60s
the rallies, concerts, beliefs, rebellions
and our explosive experimental youth.
And those rusted moments
left too long out in the rain.
4-15-94 Victor Harbor SA
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