The poem I wrote this week for Jon’s JVG Radio Method on 3RRR is continuing on in keeping the letter “A” theme Jon has been exploring, it’s “ALMOST”.

Click to hear today’s poem… [audio:JVG_Poem20080406.mp3]

Jon and I chatted about what a good week it has been, how he was almost (but not quite) late. After the show I had to dash to do a gig with my band over in St Kilda at the Pint On Punt. Thanks to those people who came along last week. The CD launch is only a few weeks away.

Ed Bates is on the slide guitar this week. Nicely done. thanks Ed.


I almost wrote a poem last night, a blinder, an absolute killer
Humour, pathos, a touch of intrigue, not a solitary syllable of filler

It was the moment I’ve strived for but never attained, the best thing I’ve written in years
Soulful, insightful, sensitive, succinct, it would have almost moved you to tears

I was fast asleep when it hit me, jumped into my mind without warning
Being a rather sedentary bastard I thought I’d write it down in the morning

I woke up at eight, had baked beans on toast, sat down with a note pad and pen
I politely tapped on the door of my mind, it said “Piss off and come back at ten”

Had a shower and shave and a bit of a walk then tentatively started to delve
“Can’t you see I’m asleep” my brain replied tersely “Bugger off and don’t wake me till twelve”

By mid afternoon my patience exhausted, frustration turned into rage
I warned if it didn’t co-operate we’d do the cryptic crossword in “The Age”

My brain reluctantly agreed to assist when I threatened it with ECT
But it made me promise it could have the night off and watch whatever it liked on TV

I asked it to scan between midnight and dawn and any file found to restore
After three hours searching all it turned up was last night’s football score

When I told it to look under poetry, it sniggered and started to curse
I said, “You just take care of the filing grey boy and I’ll take care of the verse”

I normally get on quite well with my brain but at times sarcasm comes between us
Out of thousands of poems all it could find was “It was on the good ship Venus”

It mockingly suggested rather than poem, it should scan for files titled ditty
I had just the thing for a smart arsed brain that considered itself to be witty

I pulled out a bottle of overproof scotch, and said “Alright Einstein your call”
That recalcitrant organ wobbled in fear, it knew that bottle meant, “Delete all”

Our differences sorted we set about searching every crevice, every canyon of my mind
Dug up things I can’t recall ever knowing, it’s amazing the rubbish you find

The relative size of Uranus, how many rings surround Saturn
The average weight of a goldfish and how to say wanker in Latin

How to tell the sex of a chicken, the original cast members of Hair
To my astonishment every single word of “Advance Australia Fair”

How to tie a Buntline hitch, what to feed a smurf
How many platypus lined end to end it would take to reach Melbourne from Perth
The recipe for grasshopper gumbo, every stupid thing I’ve ever done
Where I’d left the car keys I thought I’d lost in 81

All I’d achieved was a headache after hours of introspection
And enough useless statistics to give Bruce McAvaney an erection

I’d tried replaying the last 24 hours, over and over in my head
The only thing that kept coming back was the odour of garlic bread

I had to concede that poem was lost, every verb, every vowel, every noun
But it taught me my brain is as lazy as I am and press save before shutting down

This evening, when I eventually crawl into bed, perhaps I’ll get lucky again
This time I’m taking my laptop, so I don’t have to count on my brain

To make bloody sure I’ll have backup, a pencil, a pad and a light
If I’m lucky, just maybe I’ll almost compose another “almost” poem tonight

© Copyright 2007 Ian Bland

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