Wednesday, 24 August 2016

Silver (August)

Debating Society notes: “That every cloud has a silver lining.” Armchair Revolutionaries argued most clouds don’t have silver. That clouds don’t have linings at all. Backseat Drivers countered, it’s a glass-half-full thing. Metaphor! While there’s no gold at the rainbow’s end, this doesn’t mean it’s not true. ARs called this semantics. BDs broached science. If water can be called silver, then clouds are all silver lining and air. ARs accused BDs of being “all air”. Anyway, had they lined their pockets with the takings, thirty pieces of silver? BDs threatened to boycott August’s meeting if ARs’ personal attacks continued. Tie.

Tuesday, 23 August 2016

Ink (August)

[Little inky autobiography] Turning out primary school cursive. Desks with empty inkwell holes. August raincloud drawings. Letters every week to someone not seen for decades since. Biro racing across examination paper. Pens perched on pads on Trinity College doors: progenitor of Facebook. ‘King Ink’ at the Astor. Poems of crossings out. Collecting Winsor and Newton bottles. Boxes of nibs in op shops. Old Schools who signed typed documents with fountain pen. After horse riding into Wonnangatta, night sky of ink black. Umpteenth new refill for the library photocopier. Conference notes, shopping lists, post-it reminders. Playing The Ink Spots on YouTube.

Yellow (August)

[Little autobiography in yellow] Early memory: sheep fields near Ballendella. Childhood beach cricket at Queenscliff. Easter vestments and goldfoil eggs. ‘Mellow Yellow’ by Donovan. Wattle in August. School house: Barnett, yellow stripe in tie. Teenage rage poems about Vincent’s sunflowers. Bizarre university days: Wallace-Crabbe playing Malvolio in “yellow stockings”. Favourite sweet of a first love: honey bears. Ganja of lost weekends. Losing a Grand Final to the Tigers. Cataloguing gilt-spined 16th-century Jesuitica. First reading Proust’s “little patch of yellow wall.” After the Iron Curtain, visiting goldleaf  Prague. ‘Yellow’ by Coldplay. Circular poems about currawongs’ eyes. My daughter’s sunbright finger painting.