I told my dog / you're not heterosexual bisexual / transvestite transsexual / lesbian or gay / but you seem to do okay

No bells. Atop Hobart G.P.O, Elizabeth Street, Hobart. October 2011.

We have pancakes every Saturday morning, even though I am a fry up kind of guy.

Amoeba, John Hegley

hello amoeba I wish you were my pet
but you're not really big enough to be seen by the vet
are you?
you're a little blob of jelly
you've got no skin and bone
you're not a boy you're not a girl
and you're not on the telephone
I cannot get in touch with you
I cannot pull your leg
you look a bit like a fried egg
you're a long way down the ladder
that evolution trod
but you can eat with your feet
or to be more discreet
obtain food with your pseudopod
and you don't have to have a partner
to start a family
you can multiply by dividing
tra-la-la-la-lee
you don't get up in the morning
because you never go to bed
you've not got any genitalia
but you've got other bits instead
I saw you down the microscope
when I was just a lad
I told my mum about you
and then I told my dog
you're not heterosexual bisexual
transvestite transsexual
lesbian or gay
but you seem to do okay
it isn't rude to be an amoeba
in the nude
is it eh?
you're not so simple
you little protoplasmic pimple

Comments

Roddy said…

No bells. No Hunchback. It is Hobart!

16 October 2011 at 21:19

Kris McCracken said…

There are a few hunchbacks out and about in Hobart.

19 October 2011 at 11:24

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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