dave_hooke's profile

Rocks. Rocks. Rocks... These rocks were something once. These rocks were part of something – A great...building. Remember... Those rocks... those rocks were the... Sydney Opera House. These rocks are soaked in voices. Songs. These rocks drank songs. These dry rocks are dripping wet, overflowing, soaking... Absolutely flooded with songs. I will squeeze the songs from the rocks. I will open my mouth and let the songs pour forth. I am the first artist. And I shall start by eating rocks.   ...

Hieronymus was bored. Even the paperweight wanted more. Dandruff slept upon his head, The office desk absorbed a snore. A paper clip Has a use. The sheet of figures called a truce All parties welcomed the solution And were still. The aged useless fly Fat as an inksplat Ceased to irritate, struggle And fell into the bin. "If I were to jump Would it be a sin? A hurtling cosmic lump Through the Universe Or a mess of human junk. I might land on a dog And the owner might sue : I’d lose my job..." ...

I’ve jumped out of cars doing eighty; Although the speed’s been coming down lately. I’ve entered burning buildings, Saved sacks disguised as children, Fallen down wells, Jumped off hotels, Been shot down in a plane, Thrown out of a train. – Always for someone else. I’ve had 300 fractures, 200 stitches, a million scratches and a set of dentures. I’ve been battered to bits, exploded, corroded scattered, splattered, shattered thumped, bumped , punched crashed , smashed, whacked All my work...

there are places so densely populated that by half midnight all the house lights porch lights flats and street lights make it look like five am some summer at dawn which triggers an explosion in ten thousand bird brains and they all start singing a little too soon, a trifle uncertain in their song perhaps but they persevere till dawn itself when they burst forth with greater gusto relieved and reassured that they were right all along.

I hope he uses his talent rather than wearing it. He needs to be less of a poet and more helpful. He needs to be more vulnerable. He needs to be less cool; He needs less polish and more dirt. Sometimes it’s the right time to be awful. I hope he doesn’t give thought to being good, great or immortal. I hope he sees the flaws in the 'I' cons ; The feathered vanity of poetic cocks pandering to "popularity". I hope he sees how they sacrificed some of their heart for the "abstract aesthetics" of fa...