Kissing Angels on the Eve of Revolution

Poems for Performance by Robin Davidson

Illustrations by Deborah Matrice

(Boris Books, vi + 30pp, RRP $9.95 Australian, ISBN 0 646 23814 0)

Whatpoet.gif (1235

What Poetry Is...

after Brian Patten

Poetry is rarely seen in classrooms, and then is placing a
         thumbtack on the teacher's chair.
In libraries, poetry is told to be quiet, and is later ordered to leave.
Poetry slaps the faces of academics, screaming 'Reality! Reality!'
In lecture theatres, poetry scribbles obscenities on the
        blackboard, then runs off giggling.
Poetry is most often seen with mischievous, mud-covered
       children, or making a threesome with two young lovers.
Poetry never wears a suit, a tie, or a string of pearls.
Poetry never washes, enjoying its own smell.
Poetry howls at us in our nightmares,
       and seduces us in our wet dreams.
Poetry consoles the last person at the party,
       after everyone else has left in pairs.
Poetry walks down midnight alleys with junkies and drunks,
       completely unafraid.
Poetry runs down white hospital corridors, dripping blood.
Poetry lies in Beirut, pretending to be dead.
Poetry is seen at demonstrations, carrying a blank placard.
Poetry will be seen in the final flash of nuclear annihilation,
       silently screaming, 'I told you so!'
Poetry is seen on building ledges,
       urging business executives to jump.
Poetry is the photographer who took a picture of God's face,
       leaving the lens cap on.


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For Angel

For Angel

who chose her own name
       staring stark stoned under the drunken stars

who don't take no shit

who lives in a refuge on 25 young-n-homeless n 25 jobsearch
       a week n you fucken try that   eh?

who wants t be a youthworker
       cause she fucken knows man

who's a one bong wonder
       bin dared to smoke a whole stick in one go
       no-one's got th dough to try it but

who's sick o bein hassled
       pissed n stoned in th park
       by the fucken pigs
       where else can y go nights   but

who fucked off her prick of a boyfriend
       after she carved his square-lettered name
       in her ankle with a bit o wire

who knows the fucken liberals only care about th rich
       n if she had a fucken machine gun     man
       labor's as full o shit      but

who was 4 months in ospital
       after her mum's boyfriend laid into her with a baseball bat
       while her mum watched

whose mum's fucked the boyfriend off n wants her t come home
       no fucken way but
       she don't need no parent or guardian
       she's her own guardian
       Guardian Angel

For jet-haired angry-eyed Angel
       runnin      fist-raised
       n screamin t all the other fucked around
       that th revolution's ON
       like NOW

For Guardian Fucken Angel


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The Iraq Rap

Among the arms traders things were gettin tense
Without the Berlin Wall no myth of defence
But there's parties in the boardrooms
       cause they're makin a comeback
Toasting french champagne to the armies of Iraq

       Bomb Iraq bomb bomb bomb bomb Iraq

In the war with Iran the West was ready to sell
Bullets to both sides rockets gas n shells
All Hussein's doing is giving them back
Marked return to sender with love from Iraq

       Bomb Iraq bomb bomb bomb bomb Iraq

The military beast is champing at its bit
Bin a long time since Vietnam and it's dying for a hit
Drooling saliva there'll be no turning back<R>
Gonna sink its teeth into the sweet flesh of Iraq

       Bomb Iraq bomb bomb bomb bomb Iraq

Scientists are rubbing their hands with glee
At last they'll get a chance to see
If their magic suits on the soldiers' backs
Will save them from the gas that we sold to Iraq

       Bomb Iraq bomb bomb bomb bomb Iraq

Hawke wanned to swell the forces more
Cause Maggie stayed in power through the Falklands War
And a few hundred men lost in the attack
Are nothing if he stays in power through Iraq

       Bomb Iraq bomb bomb bomb bomb Iraq

You can disembowel Iranians or dismember Kurds
But touch an oilwell that's a different nerve
Oil's thicker than the blood flayed off human backs
The nations of the world draw their claws on Iraq

       Bomb Iraq bomb bomb bomb bomb Iraq

When you spin yr globe ysee tyrants by the score
In Ethiopia the Philippines or El Salvador
But they don't threaten oil so they don't cop the flack
The eyes of the world are too fixed on Iraq

       Bomb Iraq bomb bomb bomb bomb Iraq
       Bomb Iraq bomb bomb bomb bomb Iraq
       Bomb Iraq bomb bomb bomb bomb Iraq


Copyright Robin Davidson, 1995

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