narratorAUSTRALIA Volume Two
Page 1
narratorAUSTRALIA
Volume Two
Various Contributors
November 2012 to April 2013
A showcase of Australian poets and authors
who were published on the narratorAUSTRALIA blog
from November 2012 to April 2013
First published November 2012 by MoshPit Publishing
an imprint of Mosher’s Business Support Pty Ltd
Shop 1, 197 Great Western Highway
Hazelbrook NSW 2779, Australia
https://www.moshpitpublishing.com.au/
This ebook © MoshPit Publishing on behalf of all authors listed in the Index.
Cover image: Abstract fibers by RBFried, purchased from https://iStockphoto.com
This book is also available in print. Please visit the narratorAUSTRALIA website for more details.
Contents
Foreword
Copyright Reminder
Index
Contributions
Bios and contact details
A brief history of narratorAUSTRALIA
Foreword
How quickly time passes. Just six months ago we brought you narratorAUSTRALIA Volume One, and now we’re doing it again with Volume Two.
It’s been a fantastic year watching the narratorAUSTRALIA community grow, watching the participants begin forming online relationships with each other, supporting and encouraging each other to challenge themselves to new and more intricate writing tasks.
As narratorAUSTRALIA expands and reaches more people, we all learn more and are exposed to more writing styles. This last six months has seen us publish poems based on the Fibonacci sequence as well as our first Decuain poem, not to mention other poems which have been based on different rhyming patterns.
The volume of weekly entries has increased, as has the standard of competition. When we first started, there were sometimes weeks when I was worried that we would have nothing to publish! Now, we have a fair amount of choice, and the quality of that choice is increasing, which is the aim of the game – to encourage entrants to spit and polish and deliver the very best work they can, whether they have an already established writing career or are in the baby steps of venturing out into the creative writing world.
Like all publishing companies, we look for work which has a minimum of errors. Because we don’t charge for entries, we don’t have time to edit. And a poorly edited piece is hard to read, anyway. And we look for work which entertains, which makes us sit up and take notice – either with its rhythm, its words, its ideas, its humour or sadness or thoughtfulness. We look for creative writing, and are getting tougher about this. While some of the pieces we publish will occasionally appear to be based on memoir, we discourage memoir and essays per se – we are after creative writing. So if you have something to say in the memoir or opinion vein, be creative about it, or risk missing out to someone who is out to entertain!
And when we do receive something which really gets through to us, we give it an Editor’s Pick, which you will notice as you read through this volume. However, as was the case with Volume One, there were other pieces which missed out on the Editor’s Pick by a whisker, and this will become more frequent as the overall level of competition improves. So congratulations to all contributors for helping highlight the great standard of creative writing in Australia with this second volume.
Where pieces are illustrated, these are generally works by the contributor – we are cognisant of not using images which may break copyright, so while a piece may have been illustrated on the blog with an image we can link back to (e.g. from Wikipedia or a free digital images website) we don’t include those images within this book.
And, as per Volume One, I need to remind you that while we give each piece a light proofread for more obvious errors, and try to format all to a reasonable consistency, time constraints dictate that there will be the occasional issue with spelling, punctuation or grammar. For these I can only apologise, congratulate you for knowing better, and remind you not to make the same mistake when submitting your work to publishers!
But enough from me. It’s time for you start enjoying this new volume which contains 235 poems and short stories written and submitted by 111 emerging and established writers published at www.narratoraustralia.com.au during the six month period from 1 November 2012 to 30 April 2013. Most items were published at 8 am Sydney time, unless otherwise time stamped.
So please, turn the page and start reading … and when you have a moment, feel free to visit the website (above) or find us on Facebook and let the writers know if you enjoyed their work, and why.
And if you feel like submitting to narratorAUSTRALIA yourself one day, we would love to hear from you!
Thank you for your support of narrator and of the Australian creative writing industry.
Jennifer Mosher, AE
Editor-in-Chief
Copyright reminder
Please remember that every item in this book is the copyright of the attributed author.
Please do not even think about plagiarising these works or using them without permission.
If you wish to gain permission to quote from these works, or to use them elsewhere, then please contact us via our MoshPit Publishing website at www.moshpitpublishing.com.au if you can’t easily find contact details for the author in question.
The above also applies to the images supplied by the authors to illustrate their artworks.
Thank you.
Index
AB
The Billet
The Spirit Of The Thing
Abecca, Kylie
Sense Of Life
Shattered Reflections
Adamopoulos, Stephanie
Who Are You Sir?
Adams, Peter
A Cruise From Hell
Anderson, David
An Unusual Noise
Cuba
Maya
My Friend The Yowie
Renationship
Arden, Lynette
Only
Arvan, John
Christmas Performance Report
Left
Long Live Johnny
Wedding Secret
Assumpter, Irene
Following Taraji
Bingham, Leonie
Over The Fence
Blackwell, Penny
The Persian Tanker
Boko, Armin
Alice Springs Regatta
Widow’s Last Son
Brown, Jadei
Life Choices
Puzzle Of Life
Brown, Laura
Daisies For My Daisy
Bruton, Judith
Paradise
Slow Burn
Bundesen, Jean
Curlews Call
Raw Cuts
What A Day!
Winter Shadows
Callaghan, Linda
Reach For The Stars
Carew, Dominic
It Will Come
Chaffey, Robyn
Behind The Door
Flitting In The Moonlight
Lawson’s Inspiration
Radox Hair
Cholewa, Pawel
A Sentimental Cynic
Concepcion, Miss
Love’s Destroyer
Cox, Robert
Departures
The Perve Next Door
Craib, James
‘Baffling’ Bill Letts’ Magic Billets
Bend In The River
Cardboard Families
I Left It At Home
Unholy Futility
Cumming, Jennie
Kites And Heart Strings
Rain
Davidvee
Development Games
The Exercise Book
De La Force, Julitha
I Don’t Understand
The SMSer
Demelza
Comments Please!
It Made A Most Unusual Noise As It Landed
Multitasking
Predicate Etiquette
What I Really Want For Christmas
Dimitric, Irina
A Fibonacci Poem For Australia Day
My Holden Barina
The Anzac March – A Decuain
Edgar, Bob
Angelita
Forbidden Fruit
One Lazy Sunday Afternoon
Ten Seconds Of Light
The Truth At Last
Elliott, Hannah Mary
Holy City
Elliott-Halls, Sam
Love Not Lost
Ellis, Phillip A.
The Landscape Of New England
Townsville
Fermanis-Winward, Michele
Encounter
Fielding, Susan
Ambiguous Loss
Henry’s Hope
Fogarty, Naomi
A Flash Of Red
The Unspoken
Freedman, C.G.
Obituary Notice
The House At The End Of The Tracks
Gardiner, Alexander
A Lang Time Ago
A Wee Adventure Past
Possum’s Pride
Tae A Flea, Wee Courin’ Beastie
Gibbs, Thomas
Little Minds
She Stole My Pen
The Back Room
Gibson, Alison
The Boy On The Tracks
Girolamo, Hazel
Caveman
Gift Of The Grab
Pride And Presents
Spirit Of The Sea
Goodwin, Peter
Dispatches
Lacuna
Govier, Mark
Ballad Of The Twilight Man
Extract From Diary Of A Mephisto
Gow, Virginia
Burnt Toast
Downpour
Shallow Night
Under The Wharf
Hall, Emma
Backwards
Hammad, Sharon
Podiatrist
Slides
Harrison, Heather
Bleeding Bark
Heks, Andris
Federer vs Murray
The Third Eye
Howell, Connie
Insects
The Fly
The Swing
To Those In Need
Humphreys, Paul
Secrets
Shoreline
JAC
In Each Other’s Heart
James, Nicole
Big Mumma
Final Curtain Call
Tired
Jamieson, Mariah
Shiny Diamonds
Jenkins, David
Love’s Passing Remembrances
The White Goddess And The Fisher King
Johnson, Amber
Experimental Existential
Follies Of Formicidae
Marvellous Words
Southern Tablelands
Stockholm Sponge
Vita Brevis
Johnston, Henry
The Conjurers Club
The Milliner
Kale, Ashwyn
An SMS Summer Journal
Pancakes
Kathopoulis, Jenny
Julian And Cecilia
The Maiden, The Mother And The Crone
Kay, Susan
Disconnect
Flaky
Saturday
Kennedy, Rob
Counting
La Porte, Judith
Small Town Boys
Lee, Crystal
Masks
Red Lips
Lee, Melanie
Story Of A Girl
Linn, Marilyn
Murray Bridge
The Gravy Train
Waiting For Him
Lock, Julie
Gran’s Billy Lid
My First Love
Lutta, Fayroze
Arrive Singing At Les Folies Bergère
Mr Harry Morgan
My Heart Has No Home
Lynch, Felicity
Great Aunt Maud
The Great Grandmother
Time Remembered
Mancy, JH
General Mayhem
The Creak/Creek On The Stairs
Mathias, Mikhail
Let’s Get Metaphysical, Physical
McCaskill, Ben
Following
Piece Of Meat
McDougall, Garry
Tribute To Decazeville
McGloin, Barry
Adam And Eve’s Lamb, Pork Or Goat With Coriander
McKern, Kari
The Daughter Of Durga
Metcalfe, Carly-Jay
Redemption Poem
Want
Monica, Vita
A Journey Of Maturity
Mask
Murfet, Laura
Life In The Light
NaNaG
Tripping Over Rainbows
Waiting
Newman, David
The Winter And The Rose
Nickols, Lynn
It Made A Most Unusual Noise As It Landed
Summer Storms
Paton, Toni
A Gate Ajar
Every Golfer’s Treasure
Fly Bys
Payne, Kaylia
Norman Nightingale
Pensable, Des
The Demon Hunter
Tits Should Be Out And About
Pierce, Jill
Information Simply Given
Pippi, Miss
Brighton
Portingale, Paris
And Out Of The Darkness Comes – Limbo
Love And 13 Cossacks
The Time Travel Machine
Pratt, Tamara
Alien Exodus
His Gift Back
Rainbow Tornadoes
Rain, Joanna
Camping Trip
Strange Days
The Black Dog And My Dog Bundy
Ramsay, Sallie
Cockie
Secrets
Somewhere Else
Renew, Sandra
Dissident
Robertas
Croak
Recollection Of My Future
You Slipped Away
Ross, John
Bill’s Visit To The Big Smoke
The Cave
The Newcomer
The Wind
Saint-Malo, Shey
Hippolito
Sargent, Susan
The Driver
Satori, Sonia Ursus
Ode To Life – Prologue
Scott, Emma-Lee
A Natural Scape
Blood And Men
Of The Mind
Summer
Tranquil Darkness
Shankar, Peter
Landed
Speak English Please
Singer, Ariette
Barbra Streisand Would Love This!
Discriminating Cupids
Smith, Winsome
A Lucky Find
Let Down Your Hair
Selma’s Birthday Present
Tales The Laundress Told
Smithers, Alexandra
Kitty And Father Bob
Smithers, Shane
Girl In The Garden
Stuck On Five
The Photograph
Soul, Jessica
Sonnet Of Love
Sparks, Graham
Hypothetical Machine
I Am Desire
Shooting Star
Words For An Omniscient God
Stanbridge, Deborah
The Feather
Walker, Vickie
The Peacock
Ward, Ken
The Headstone
Wicks, Les
&n
bsp; List Of What’s Left
Williams, Ian Kennedy
Hares
Windsor, Arielle
An Infatuation With The Semblance Of A Man
Losing The Chance To Choose
Withers, Ruth
Dignity
Ode To The Fledgling Flown
Sisterhood
Wood, Claudia
Red
Yates, Linda
Broken Armour
Kitchen Meditation
Of Might And Mouse
York, Marie
Solid Oak
Zaknic, Athena
Damaged
To Australia
Trapped
Thursday 1 November 2012
Under The Wharf
Virginia Gow
Blackheath, NSW
Under the wharf fairy penguins are nesting,
Feeding their babies, despite human noise.
Watched over and guarded by ancient traditions;
Vague dreaming of pathways
Entrenched in genetics.
This is a billet of survival.
Is it?
Under the wharf the wild god is sleeping,
Clutching a crumpled photograph in chilled hands.
Lost in a maze of human suffering,
Searching for freedom.
Fear to go there!
This is a billet of survival.
Is it?
Under the wharf poison is seeping,
Creeping out of fuel tanks
Driving all insane.
Bottled up fortification,
Craving companionship!
This is a billet of survival.
Is it?
Friday 2 November 2012
Holy City
Hannah Mary Elliott
Southport, QLD
Not the mind but its unfathomable waters
Listen midafternoon to birds
Sing joy enough for the whole earth
A winged parish atop sycamore cathedrals
Chiming the ineffable essence of being
Holy river of songs converging and flowing
Along banks where the cement briar reek
With the spurned carcass of consumerism
In man's temple of metallic shrines and
Carcinogen incense
Compassion still clings
Blades of her green hand reach out
From cracked geometry
One can find sprawling the obsequious tarmac
The ancient ones
Stray wisdom in a stone
A few trees
Some monks of verdancy left
Bend reverently to the wind
Saturday 3 November 2012
Story Of A Girl
Melanie Lee
Avoca Beach, NSW
This is the story of a girl who lived in a world where all was not fair or right or just too much of the time, but still there was laughter and still there was joy.
For along the way and in her travels she had learned quite a few valuable lessons, one in particular being that which brings you down cannot keep you down, unless you allow it, and that you cannot hold another down unless you stay down with them.
She learned most lessons the hard way and in doing so learned that pain can be a gift that allows you to see more humbly and deeply into the hearts and souls of others.
She learned that sometimes life’s most treasured gifts often come in the most unwelcome packages.
She came to understand that it is letting go that requires the greatest strength.
She came to understand that not getting what it is you think you want, can bring about a greater joy than you anticipated or dreamed.
She discovered that the happiness she sought was closer to home than she realised.
She learned that loving someone sometimes isn’t always easy but that it shouldn’t always be hard.
Sadly she learned that you can’t always be with the one you love and that you don’t always love the one you are with.
She learned that too often it was the people who she thought were supposed to love and care about her the most were the ones that caused the most pain.
She learned and valued that acceptance really was the answer to many problems, discovering it’s more important to be who you are, than to worry about what you are.
She understood that possessions ought never replace the value of people, things are replaceable, people are not.
Although she lived in a world of extravagance, she learned that less is more. She came to believe that happiness truly was a means of travel and not a destination.
She discovered that hope really is the jewel of life and that when everyone else has given up, when all else fails, hope will find a way.
She saw that some people’s fears haunted them more than actual events. She saw that many people around her stumbled over the truth every now and then, but most picked themselves up and brushed themselves of as if nothing had happened.
She learned not to fear her darkness for she had discovered that some things only show up in the dark and that is where the light shines the brightest.
She realised people come and go but feelings do remain and that there could be great healing on the other side of great suffering.
She learned that being alone and feeling lonely were two different things.
She discovered that there is always another way and that she would never have known the joy of finding her self if she hadn’t got lost.
She found that sometimes the answer to the problem created an even bigger problem.
She came to understand that there is great relief and freedom in forgiveness but that it is a journey in itself to get there.
She realised that she was never able to un-love that man, discovering that it really is true, it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.
She learned that surrender is often a sign of great strength, as is gentleness.
She came to the understanding that there was a difference between loving someone because you need them and needing someone because you love them.
She discovered it takes courage to remain true to yourself and that sometimes you have to be willing to let go of everything you think you have to hold onto yourself.
Then she lived …
Sunday 4 November 2012 1 pm
Tranquil Darkness
Emma-Lee Scott
Callaghan, NSW
Cracked pavement of dirty grey,
Aging tree trunks of deep strength
And cloudless sky filled with a sweet peace.
An ebbing quiet filtered by the night,
With gentle breeze,
And an embracing darkness.
A space of nature’s virtue,
Heightened by the hour,
Hiding the unearthly that encroaches.
When eyes need not be shielded,
When senses are intensified,
When the night reigns supreme.
The trespassers have disappeared,
The moon has fallen,
All that is, is nothingness.
It is the call of the night,
When we have silently been enchanted,
By its peaceful freedom.
The room to let our minds roam,
Without the broken thought,
And the obtrusive day.
It is the tranquil time,
When we feel what we see,
And truly just be.
Monday 5 November 2012
I Don’t Understand
Julitha De La Force
Katoomba, NSW
Why did you say I was your girl
And you were my man
Then vanish in a whirl?
I don’t understand?
‘It has to be a secret,’ you said
‘Nobody can know what we did,’ you said
Those phrases keep going round and round
In my head
You told me I was cute
You said I was a real sweetie
You called me sweetheart and darling
So I don’t understand why
It seems to have become nothing
I was freezing, shivering, asked you
If you had an electric blanket on this thing
You wrapped your arms around me saying,
‘I’ll be your electric blanket darling’
Was it really just a one night stand?
It felt like more to me than a one night stand.
I’m sitting here hurting because …
I don’t understand
Tuesday 6 November 2012
Tired
Nicole James
Narrandera, NSW
Tired, tired of going on
I’ve lost all reason and will,
Tired of facing another day
In a time that stands so still.
I see peace when I close my eyes,
When I imagine myself to be dead,
I see no hunger left to live
Within a world so full of dread.
I think never of heaven or hell,
I seek no paradise or evil retreat,
All I want is to close my eyes on life,
For my sentence to be complete.
I hold my life in my palm,
To live or to let me die,
With this decision I always struggle,
It’s so hard and I’m unsure why.
Pulled in so many directions
With no power to pull away,
I hope when I close my eyes tonight,
I don’t have to wake to another day.
Wednesday 7 November 2012
Adam And Eve’s Lamb, Pork Or Goat With Coriander
Barry McGloin
Holder, ACT
And it came to pass that Adam and Eve sat on a goatskin, huddled naked in a cave. They shuddered from the sounds of the Lord God Jehovah’s wrath as it rained into the valley splitting trees and hurtling boulders. Adam could smell Eve’s hair, feel her cold skin, and verily he could feel her tremors.
They did not comprehend Jehovah’s words nor the reason for His anger. They were dismayed but aware that it had been caused by their new feelings for each other as they had become one within the beauty of their garden, its glorious warmth and succour.
They had not eaten an apple from the Tree of Knowledge. But they had made love. They were young, in fact they were all the company they had, apart from The Lord who was away mostly. There was no serpent. The serpent was a metaphor. The author of Genesis knew that the words would be read to the children of Israel.
They had made love for a whole week, following some exploratory fumbles, while The Lord was away. He hadn’t told them they could not, well not exactly. He did say that they shouldn’t do anything He wouldn’t do. God was holy. No doubt about it. He wore an air of kindly benevolence. Until He found out. Then He went ballistic.
They had fallen asleep in Eden. The grass was soft, the sunlight filtered in golden light through the leaves of fig and the aromatic Hasmesh, the doves softly cooed, white goats bleated, and to be frank they were exhausted, but blissfully happy. Then God appeared. They had been naked before but now they were entwined and naked, and they became ashamed in His gaze and tried to cover up with fig leaves. It was mostly ineffective.
God let out a roar that froze waterfalls, stuck birds to the sky and cleaved a valley. Adam blamed it on Eve and said that he had been tempted. He immediately regretted his words but it was done. God replied that he would put enmity between them, and between Adam’s offspring and hers. This was a bit puzzling but Adam let it go.
God spoke to Eve and said that he would greatly increase her pains in childbirth. As she had never had children this was another mystery. He also said that her desire would be for her husband and that he would rule over her. God did not foresee womens’ liberation, but hey, that was millenniums later.
Contemporary Biblical scholars, particularly those who support the theory of Intelligent Design date the ‘Fall of Mankind’ at about 6000BC. The oldest human skeleton is dated at about 4 million. Such discrepancy is dispelled by Faith. Faith is the essence of True Belief. Each religion has its own version of Faith. Faith is a gift from God. There are more gods than you can poke a stick at.
In his Divine Rage Jehovah ranted that the ground was now cursed, that Adam would painfully toil his days on earth, that weeds would spring up, thorns and thistles, and he would live off the land until he dropped dead and disintegrated to dust. Verily this was a setback.
In His continuing Divine Rage Jehovah expelled the young couple from the Garden of Eden and placed cherubim and a flaming sword, flashing back and forth, as a deterrent. His words fell like hot cinders on their backs as they stumbled into the valley of darkness. After some time, yea they found a goat trail leading to a cave, where we found them earlier.
It was stony damp, dark and cold with a whiff of urine and sulphur, and lo and behold a blue fire formed around a rock and a tall slim figure appeared before them. ‘Please allow me to introduce myself. Maximilian Price. Friends call me Max, or Pricey. I imagine you’re both a little upset and a trifle peeved? If it’s any consolation He can be a touch tetchy at times.’
Max Price carried a suave jaunty air. He was an indeterminate age, strangely neither old nor young in our terms, although Adam and Eve didn’t try to guess his age, after all they had jump started the tribe of Israel yesterday, and had no idea of age; God just looked different …
Pricey wore a suit of the finest cloth. I say this for your benefit reader, Adam and Eve had no concept of apparel, other than the goat skin God had thrown at them when they parted, which they now sat on. God Himself was sort of luminous.
‘This is indeed a pleasure which, incidentally, I have been anticipating for some millenniums past. You must be Adam? Eve? Do call me Max. Max. Yes. Well … you know … you can do all you can to please Him and believe me I have been there, where you are, perplexed by such prima donna behaviour which would indeed try a saint … Ha ha, I mean really what did He expect? He gives you the dangly bits and expects angels? Well there’s the flaw in the design hey? Dangly bits have their own mind ha ha, it is an unrealistic expectation. You guys as the prototype are up the creek without the proverbial if you get my drift hmmm??’
Adam drew Eve closer.
‘Look, I’ll give it to you straight. The Lord says I’m not to be trusted – if He’s likely to impart any advice that is … once he’s over His huff, heh heh … He will tell you that I’m a black angel who was once his favourite but got ambitious for the top job, well hey what’s wrong with a little ambition? You can’t stay second fiddle for eternity. I’ve done my bit, I’ve put in my share. I’m known in other places as a decent chap. India? You’ve heard of India? No? Well over there humanity is thriving already and those guys have rolled me in with one of their gods, Shiva I think, basically a good fellow, they love me but oh no not here, oh no, we have to be angels, squeaky clean, what’s wrong with a little raunch every now and then Eve, do you think?’
Eve looked away.
‘Yes well, The Lord will tell you I’m a corrupter of souls which to be honest is absolute hogwash. He will tell you that you have free will, you are free agents and can make choices, except that you must make the right choice or you’ll end up in a locale undesirable for eternity. Look I’ll be straight with you before you continue pumping away at humanity. Free choice is an illusion. You are what you are and can merely make one decision which is what you end up doing. You may think you have options, and you do, but being the person you are, there is only one choice. Let me introduce The Panel.’
And it came to pass that before their eyes four figures appeareth. They were sitting, smiling with sparkling teeth, each with a hand on a buzzer. Adam and Eve knew not the buzzer, but I say that for you my reader, and Adam and Eve were startled and clung together and Max Price saw their shame and lo placed clothes upon th
em, which they found were soft and warm, and verily it put a smile on their faces.
‘The Panel my dears is an ancient Greek concept and here we have four ancient Greeks who estimate your next move. Let me introduce Zeus, Persephone, Stavros and Maria. Stavros and Maria run a fish and chip emporium at the far end of Hades, melt in your mouth and the aroma is to die for ha ha. You may think of these folk as gods and they often think of themselves that way but in reality they are like you and I, well not I ha ha, but certainly thou.
‘The sequence of events known as ‘history’ is recorded and understood by the concept of ‘time’. In fact all events have occurred and can be accessed at any point. Think of it as a flat picture, a cave drawing. The aim of The Panel is to have fun, with real live players, and how do they do it? They do it because they have your specifications, your characteristics, your DNA, your personality, and so given a set of circumstances, for example if Eve were to bear children, using the information they project what should happen in the future, in minutes, hours, days or years – the sex of the children, what she might name them and so on. Now, the score is greater the further the prediction. Fun? It’s more fun than you can poke a stick at. What? The estimate is checked against the actuality. What? So fun guys.’
Lo the anguish of The Lord then echoed into the Valley of Darkness and boulders boomed into the darkest chasms and shook the earth. The Panel disappeared. Adam drew Eve closer. Max Price’s dark figure filled the cave which became icy, glittering with stalactites like knives poised to strike. His voice hardened and ripped into the void. They covered their ears but verily they could hear. They covered their eyes but still they saw.
‘I … I … will NOT be compromised nor praised by posterity. My shadow will cause the earth to groan in its burden of fear and destruction. My legions will roam the earth. Yea verily I shall wrought such ill that even you Jehovah will tire of my vengeance. Awe is my greeting, Woe my fortune and Death my legacy. I am Random Disorder.
‘I am the Unwelcome Guest.’
Eve looked at Adam. ‘Shee-it. Heaveey eh Ads? This place is freezing my tits off. Whaddya reckon?’ Max Price looked at Eve, then at Adam, then at Eve, stunned disbelief on his face as he slowly vanished, saying ‘You know …’
‘Cripes Chicky Babe, just as well he pissed off. I was bored shitless eh? Could eat the crutch out of a low flyin’ duck.’
And it came to pass that Ads failed to score a low flying duck but lo he did leap upon an unwary goat and Eve found many herbs and stuff and it became a fine wholesome meal. In the fullness of time Ads (and Eve) begot Cain and Abel who were wayward youths with a liking for herbs and stuff. Verily after a night on the turps Cain slew Abel. Shit happens.
In accordance with Genesis Ch.5. Verse 5 Ads lived to a ripe old 930 but had separated from Eve 903 years before. Eve married Mario with whom she had been carnally familiar and had 25 children and 102 grand kids. Eve was rapt. Ads married Kiralee 903 years back, she was 6 years younger and spunky as, eh? Kiralee bore Ads 4 children: Little Ads, Kezza, Stevie and Jack and became less spunky after each one. Lo she found Ads was in an adulterous relationship with ‘That Bitch’ Lenore ‘Hey, call me Lennie’ and so left him for Nicko with whom she had been carnally familiar on occasion usually at Christmas parties. She kept the boys and Adam kept Lenore which lasted for 10 years before Lennie left Ads for Todd ‘Let me turn your lights on babe’ The Electrician.
And so the Earth spun around with neither favour nor malice in tune with the nature of this particular existence. The Panel played their game unbeknownst to anyone, always smiling. Adam's seed stumbled and fumbled onward as humanity increased, stubbing toes, bumping into things, making mistakes, making progeny, dying, waging wars, and occasionally being beset with natural disasters, plagues, pestilence, famine, flood and other population reducing inconveniences. In early years it was believed that the Lord God Jehovah, or other gods launched these initiatives at mankind, to teach respect, or in recognition of the errors of their ways. Later humanity following 21st century arguments by Dawkins and Hitchens among others generally regarded religion as superstition and mythology, and it became clear that no superior celestial being had any interest whatsoever, beneficial or malicious. Except maybe Batman. Shit happens.
The Recipe
The recipe which commences ‘if you are hungry, catch a slow goat’ has long since gone. So, I have appropriated an excellent Sri Lankan recipe to tack onto my story. Of course it has been modified to my taste. Folk culture, whether cuisine, music or other art benefits from interaction, and is reborn. You can substitute lamb, pork or beef for goat meat, in fact adapt to your own taste.
Finely grind the following spices:
2 tsp brown mustard seeds
½ teaspoon whole peppercorns
3 tbls coriander seeds
2 cloves
Grind or blend the following:
1/4 medium Spanish red onion
½ inch piece ginger
3 medium cloves garlic
4 coriander roots
2 small hot chillies, red or green
Heat 3 tablespoons of oil – corn, macadamia, olive or peanut – to medium and add:
1 medium cinnamon stick
2 whole cardamom pods (crushed to put a split in pod)
2 bay leaves
½ kilo approximately (can be more) lamb, goat, pork or beef
Sear the meat quickly. Add the spices from the first bracket. Fry for 1 minute. Add the 2nd bracket. Fry for 5 minutes.
Add 1 cup good dry white wine and 1 cup water, 1 tsp lemon juice, 2 tablespoons Thai or Vietnamese fish sauce and 1 tsp salt.
Cover and cook on low heat – 90 mins for beef, 60 minutes for goat, lamb or pork. Add 2 chopped coriander plants and 270 ml tin of coconut cream.
Thursday 8 November 2012
Shiny Diamonds
Mariah Jamieson
Sheidow Park, SA
Through those windows
Lay two precious rocks
Paced neatly upon a cloth
Real pity about those locks
Oh those shiny diamonds
Enormous numbers for those
Printed on that tiny tag
I could never afford such
When one can hardly afford a rag
Oh those shiny diamonds
I must have those gems
They are simply brilliant
How hard can it be?
I must be resilient
Oh those shiny diamonds
I will steal them
When the clock strikes twelve
They will be all mine
Take them right off that shelf
Oh those shiny diamonds
What a mistake
This room is cold
Trapped and alone
I will be here till I grow old
Why those shiny diamonds?
Friday 9 November 2012
The House At The End Of The Tracks
C.G. Freedman
Rouse Hill, NSW