Fruit flies and alcohol - poetry to go

David Farnsworth's latest poems are increasingly clear sighted. They ruminate on cold days in Ballarat, the virtue of inebriation and more.

If you want more of this fine poet's work, check out this link: Middle Kingdom. A take on world travel through the poet's eye and an anthology worth reading.

 

 

Reflections

The red wine danced in the glass

a darker red than blood,

the sun travelling through the wine

to the tablecloth beneath.

Are reflections a heightened way

of seeing? - So much variety

depending on whether it's windy

or not. The ruffled waters

of Lake Learmonth, with ribbons

of yellow and blue capturing

the late afternoon sky.

As usual, I don't stop.

It's the still days with water

where reflections reach great

heights - where even the seemingly

mundane is magically transformed.

02/ 02/ 2017   Ballarat for Maryborough

 Downhill

The fruit fly was water-skiing over
the sweat on my chest. I felt
woozy. "Do you have a fever?" asked
the medical guru.

"I feel about as normal as ever
which I admit is not terribly
normal." I stood up.
The fruit fly went rapidly downhill.

That's the way with life. Just when
you feel comfortable, somebody tips
the table and some normality
disappears. Like the Government

taking $90 a fortnight from
my pension, but what's not to like
for the liver with the prospect of 6
fewer bottles of red wine passing

through its system? It may even
survive a few extra weeks.
Are you aware of the unusual strain
on the legs when running downhill?

I thought not. Avoid it all costs.
Walking is permissible; like downhill
from Mt Bogong; over snow drifts;
through the mountain ash; now but a memory.


Ballarat for Maryborough 02/ 03/ 17

 

The Dark Side of the Moon.

The fruit fly abseiled up my nose hair.

I made the mistake of dipping my nose

in the glass of gin. The fly landed on

an ice block and wondered whether he

had landed on the dark side of the Moon.

I assured him he was still on terra firma.

He proceeded to the rim of the glass and

began to dry his wings. After the immersion

in the gin he tottered slightly. He was not

the only one.

Why are fruit flies so attracted to alcohol?

Why am I so attracted to alcohol?

The recycling bin is so heavy with bottles

and what must the neighbours think

when a fortnight's bottles are emptied noisily?

The fruit fly is still here, always within

reach of my nearest glass. What a mean

occupation! How limiting! I tried to educate

him with other beverages but he's not

having any. We are both tied to our old ways.

Maryborough 05/05/17

With my powerful magnifying glass

I noticed my friend wearing Lycra.

I suspect (know?)he was hit by the cycling craze.

Many other fruit flies were in Lycra.

All had tiny bicycles. The Lycra grabbed

their crotches, so  you could see who

had been circumcised and who had not.

I'd made the mistake of sprinkling salt

on the table cloth. "These stones are rough,"

whined my fruit fly. It didn't last. Soon he,

and his fellow flies, all male, cycled around

a small puddle and then stopped at a small

shed-like building where they entered and

enjoyed a cappuccino, late, long black, whatever.

The owner of the shed was smiling.

Now, whenever my fruit fly is due to ride,

I cover my alcohol

with Glad Wrap.

I can't afford the wretch being pinged for .05

Ballarat 06/07/17 

Out of the Window

Hi, my name's Fernando. I'm a fruit fly. I live with David.

He lives with me. Whatever. The alcohol here is unlimited, and

such good quality. You might have noticed we fruit flies love our

alcohol.

David has given me the task of writing this piece. He has told me

to write fast, don't stop and be as trivial as you like. I like the

last one.

I am writing this perched on the rim of a glass containing

a stiff gin and tonic and a slice of lemon. While I write, David is

reading Bleak House by Charles Dickens. The poor man is up to

page 587. Only another 413 pages to go. And there is much

 housework and gardening waiting for him!

On the nature strip opposite, a couple of magpies have taken

possession, hunting off a couple of blackbirds, who were there first.

I feel sorry for the worms. It's been a wet year. Luckily here, the

pickings for the spiders  have been so poor, they have decamped, so I

don't have a worry in the world.

The red car opposite has just moved off. People in this street come and go

all day. There's always something to notice. The red car people are

all female and always, in the weekends, filling the car with beach

equipment. Oh, that we could be so lucky. David tells me we are off

to Maryborough tomorrow. "Can you manage four hours without

alcohol?" he asks. "I guess we will make up for it on our return,"

I reply.

Green-haired Bob's roses need pruning. He's such a busy man. David's

roses need pruning too.

My technical name is Drysophila. (The red car has just returned and

is disgorging passengers) David tells me that he and a few mature-

aged students (teachers) were attempting to pass a diploma studying something

called Biology as part of a Social Sciences course. They were studying the

mating habits of the Drysophila. He and a friend failed the subject four

times.  I often worry about the intellect of David. 

To get him and his friend to graduate, they deleted the subject.

David has refilled his glass. I just managed to avoid the bubbles from

the tonic water smudging this page.

The pink flowering-gum overhanging this window is festooned with gum nuts.

The new flower buds are swelling. Two weeks ago, four spotted pardolates

were feeding on insects, which were feeding on the leaves. They improved

the tree's health. One good turn deserves another.

After a -2C morning (8C in the house), the sun shone, the sky

was a deep blue and as I write, the sun is sinking, as it does, in

the west.

South-west at night, you get the lights from the trotting track.

David says I would love it there. There is so much alcohol in the

Flying Horse Bistro.

Maryborough  01/ 09/ 17

For Susan.

Ye Gods and Small fish. What a

revolting ornament! It looks like it's

fallen off a plumber's truck. Maybe it

would look better from a different angle?

Maybe not. Actually, when I first saw it,

I thought it was a pig. If seen on a dark

night, it would probably frighten small children.

Wake me when the five minutes is over.

David Farnsworth   05/05/17