The Pony Ice Sculpture

Once upon a time quite recent in my life, there was me, spending a lot of time on my own at home by myself. It’s because I don’t have so much of a job at the moment. So I spend a lot of time doing archaeological digs in my back yard, hoping to find something of value that I can sell on E-bay. And it’s been quite successful. So far I’ve found the wheel of a primeval matchbox car; I found some glass which I presume is from an ancient spaceship’s rear view mirror; and I found a Pachycephalosaurus from an 80’s sitcom. I also think I’ve found the skeleton of a jellyfish which I can’t really date because it’s mostly just vapour that hovers over a wilted celery tree in my backyard like a giant fishy fog. So yeah, I’ve been spending a lot of time doing that sort of thing and it’s been quite rewarding.

But just last week I was in the backyard with my trowel; and I heard a knock at the front door. So I climbed out of the hole I was digging, using a ladder made of bones, and I got to the front door, opened it, but there was no one there. So I ran out onto the street, but it was empty except for one car. So I ran up to the car, but as soon as I got like about ten metres away it started to drive off. So I did a giant leap and managed to grab hold of the aerial. But it was one of those extendable ones; and so as I pulled myself closer it extended a little further away. So here I was getting dragged along behind a car, being quite severely grazed, hoisting myself up an eternally stretchy Mozzarella like aerial, being dragged into the wilderness of the outer suburbs. And this car seemed to get nothing but green lights it was amazing, like a dream run. And I could hear the driver going… “don’t change… don’t change, oh yes, yes I’m through! I’m through! don’t change… don’t change, oh yes, yes, it’s like a dream run!”

Finally we stopped at this abandoned Fisher and Pykle factory and the driver got out and I looked at him… he was a slippery shimmering pony ice sculpture. And he turned around and said “I’m gonna freeze your little face off you warm buttery bitch”
So, I quickly got to my feet and I was like 'boom' in fight mode ready to take a bit of an icy pummel. And he lunged at me with the swift hands of a Brazilian waxer ripping off the pubey forest of a hippy minge. But I managed to dodge most of his attacks and I got a few good throat jabs in myself. But the fight was mostly the pony’s fun. And he eventually got me down in a hold and I smearing my muddy hands all over his icy sculptured body; my hands where muddy because just previously I had found an under ground aqueduct in my backyard. But I couldn’t detour his glacial strength with my dirty mud fingers.

Anyway he had me in this crazy pony hold for a fair while, and then he started dragging me towards a giant vintage freezer. And as I was scrambling on the ground, I reached into my pocket and found some early Neolithic flint which I had dug up that morning, and I whipped off my bamboo undies and I was like crack – crack with the linty flint; and I started making a small campfire in the pony’s armpit. And he was like “jumping Jupiter a fire” and he dropped me and ran into the giant vintage freezer. So I quickly grabbed a fairly robust rake and jammed it up against the door and locked him in there forever.

And so I wandered home in the peachy afternoon light trying to think of what could possibly posses an ice pony to come after me like that. And when I got home the jellyfish vapour had trashed my house and gone. And I realised that it was all some kind of political attack on me, to remind me of the plight of global warming.

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This is a Story about Neal

Things were about to change
It was the first day of the last week of school
And Neal was riding his bike to the bus stop

Neal rode a ridiculously tiny bike
That required him to peddle
At least 12 times more than the average cyclist
But at this point he was peddling
At an average speed
This meant in turn that he was travelling
Stupidly slow
So slow that you may be forgiven for thinking that
He had stopped completely apart from his legs
That maybe his chain had fallen off
And he had not noticed
Or he was on the side of the road with an exercise bike

That maybe he had got up this morning
And in the blur of the morning
Half still enjoying a dream
Half aware that the day must begin
He had gone into the garage and taken
What Neal thought was his trusty bicycle
But what was in fact his grandmothers old exercise bike
And dragged it out onto the side of the road
And begun the arduous journey to school

But no Neal wasn’t on a an exercise bike
He was just riding a really fruitless bike
Fruitless in terms of efficient travel
But in regards to style
This was a very fruity bike
Neal and his Dad had biult it themselves
From old bikes scavenged from hard rubbish
And the tip
Every part had a story to tell
But Grease and oil soon fixed that

While Neal was riding he was humming to himself
He was writing a song in his head
He relished these times that he had on his own
When he could turn off the world
And journey into the depths of his imagination
Today was a melancholy love song
Most days where melancholy love songs

Neal looked down at his watch
He had three minutes before the bus left
And he knew that he was further than a comfortable
Three minutes riding
He quickly stood up on his peddles
And he rode like the wind
Well at least his legs moved like the wind
And his bike travelled at the speed of a
Jogging Mule

With the wind blowing through the air holes in his helmet
And inturn slightly blowing through his hair
He felt free
And faster than he had ever attempted
He rounded the last corner onto the straight
That led up to his bus stop
And in the distance he could see the bus
Starting to pull away from the curb
He threw his hands into the air
In a desperate attempt to stop the bus
And the bike wobbled underneath him
And what happened next was a complete blur

He picked himself off the side of the road
And looked up just in time to see a glimpse
Of the bus as it turned the corner
On its way to school
Without him.

HOLD ON

A POEM

Sitting on a rock, the sun trickled through the trees;
From the disdainful wind came a whisper on the breeze.
Following the mutter I went far into the depths.
I followed the sound, until I found some stone-laid steps.
I followed the soaked stones as they fell beneath me feet.
The sound grew all around becoming a faint beat beat.
I watched me step cautiously on the mossy rock.
The pitter-patter of me feet became a tick and a tock.
Tick tock I walked down and down via the secret stone
Till I found meself completely and utterly alone
At least that’s what I thought, when I sat there for a while.
But through the trees a figure gawked at me with a timid smile.
So I head-butted his face really hard.
It hurt me heaps, but I know it hurt him to
and I thought:
That’ll learn him for gawking.