The Hawaiian Motel

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I was staying at
the Surfer’s Paradise
Hawaiian Motel
a Wild Turkey in hand
slowly defrosting
in a cyclonic swell
when the news broke
… the King of Rock
had just fatally fell
He could rhythm & blues
the whole jail house block
from a cell
at the Heartbreak Hotel
And then
in his blue suade shoes
gospel all the way
to the edge of reality
Heaven’s pearly gates
now blown straight to hell

Mosquitoes and neon buzzing
as the No Vacancy sign
flickers on
at the Surfer’s Paradise
Hawaiian motel

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The Doors of Deception

Six long weeks
roaming the dry crust
of a sun burnt wilderness.
Nothing but rocks and red dust.
The hot desert winds
that flay the skin
… now murmuring,
with words broken
of souls lost and forsaken.
Best I finally surrender
upon this alien terrain
the haunted trauma
of a time I’ve tried in vain
. . . to never remember.

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La Coco Mojo Trobada

Looking for hidden treasure
in the doing of serious leisure
at the most exotic Coco Mojo bar
As that coral sea
just keeps glistening
in the tropical sun
I’m ordering yet another
mango mojito
whilst listening to Mojo JuJu
singing that native tongue

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For Ernesto Che Guevara

At long last
I’ve seen the past
and much like the future
it was murder
Since the beginning
of forever
brother Cain came
with low blows
to impose
a new world order
I thank Christ
some had time to grasp
the hand at task
For chaos never stops
to count the cost
But I blame myself
for a world of mayhem
and uncivil disorder
ever since the canonization
of my dearest friend
Ernesto Che Guevara

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Mister Stork

In the lounge room of my childhood
there’s this small box made of wood.
And when I open it’s varnished lid
up pops a finely painted stork.
A cigarette wedged in his beak,
with the promise of something good …

“Care to try a Peter Stuyvesant?
Tailor made for the Jet-Set!
You’ve been on a plane.
And you’re a big boy now, all of nine.
You’ll find the taste most pleasant,
and you’ll soon be feeling fine.”

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