Tuesday, 4 October 2011

Scratch that Jeep

Scratch not far below
roots run deep
- all the way
in a matter of months
strong similarities
straddled on either side

Disappointingly, almost invisible
people asking how it copes
comfort zone
we would say it's doing well

Some things are less comfortable
soft remote
result in a wallowing experience
try to shake apart
whistles and growls.


This is the first poem I've put together since I was about 16. I say put together because I didn't really write it per se.
Last week, off I hopped to an editing workshop and this was the result of one of the exercises. We were each given a random bit of newspaper and a black marker.
Make a poem, be creative! the workshop leader spouted at us with enthusiastic smile and high expectations.
Mild panic arose. I hadn't gone near poetry since I was in my teens and still had trouble focusing whenever I optimistically opened a book of poetry.
So, instructions were to read through the article you were given and cross out any words you didn't want to include. The words you left would end up being aforementioned poem.
Relief. Yeah, I could do that. Take credit for rearranging someone else's words? Sweet.
The poem that I finished with, not so sweet.
You'd have thought it was an article about depression or perhaps even a cultural piece about refugees.
No, my scrap of newspaper was from the 'Drive' section of the SMH.
All Jeeps and cruisers and numbers I had no interest in.
What the hell does "a decent 360Nm of torque" mean anyway?


Pete's mascot on the combi.


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