Paul J Penton – Songwriter

I saw them at the supermarket. A clear crinkly cellophane packet, the contents on display for all to see. To me it looked as if there were a hundred sleeping possums, all curled up their faces scrunched into a ball. Hundreds of them, all packed into the bed of that bag that hung on the wall. I thought I’d take them home, and they were disturbed from their slumber temporarily as they walked the aisles with me, up and down those canyon walls of products, height of consumerism needing to be scaled by well intentioned dollars, or maybe some lazy others.

At home the plastic bags rippled along the corridor as the front door shut behind me, it echoed down the barren hallway, just refinished, the light was sort of airy, not a heavy morning or anything really, just a something kind of morning, that says I’m here ‘play me’.

The kitchen table creaks as I lay down the Mezzaire of shopping bags and search for those nuts From the side board behind, a bowl scrapes and the faucet sings as I fill the kettle that begins a grumble in the corner.

The packet of nuts is convinced to open by two strong arms ripping the packet either side. They parachute drop into the bowl pinging and singing now they are awake and alive. It’s only temporary – they soon go back to their hibernation and inert state until I take one of the oily skins and pop it in my mouth. It crunches about between molars, not too hard, maybe a peanut, try a cashew next , much softer to chew on – like a pillow . Hands jangle around in the depths of the bowl, like catching goldfish they slip away from me too easily…..

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Tuesday 21 April

I could take a trailer,
leave it all behind
I’m loving’ it
I’m lovin it

Let free wind in the window
Blowin’ us around

I’m lovin’ it
Lovin’ it

No-thing gonna stop me
Wai-ting for the end of the day
I’ll sing for my supper all the way

Oh yeah

OLD FASHIONED MAN

These days I’m much more aware
of doing my share
of the house work and the dishes
to make it easy on the misses
Takin’ care of the children
dropping them off at school
in the SUV parade
you know I’ve really got it made:

I work from an office right here at home
big long stretches of being alone
while she’s at the workface
burying bones
The days are great but something inside
itches for a horse and a carriage

I go dreaming back to a romantic life
where we hitch up a wagon
hit the trail and ride
and sit on a bench with tobacco and a gun
traveling on through that ol’ Wild West
lookin’ out for those Indians
just a Winchester
a Stetson
and a plain cotton vest

I could be a real man
the leader of the pack
clean shaven
living life on the edge
instead of tryin’ to keep pace
with the rough and tumble
of a damn mortgage
where life doesn’t touch me
it’s smoothed right down
looking through the mirror of manufactured perfection
I wish sometimes I was not a house husband
But just an old fashioned sort of man

SACRED TO LIVE

I’m like a rapper with this racket here inside my mind
I tune into the station but sometimes I’m fried
I want to change the station for a little while
but it just keeps flowin’
like a river to the ocean inside
there’s an ocean inside

I could be real cynical ’bout what I see
I could get hysterical about TV
is it all a joke?
should it all go up in smoke?
it keeps us entertained
but is there anything to see?

The media always seems to make things bad
reality TV should be put to bed
the cult of personality
Is bringing us banility
is it doing it for you and me?
it just fills my head and makes me

scared to live
scared to live
scared to live

The only place it seems that it’s safe to be
is a dessert in the middle of a far country
the air we breathe is so dangerous
the food we eat is all poisonus
no wonder I’m running out of hope for us
it taints everything I see
and makes me

scared to live
scared to live
scared to live

I lie in bed
and I’m left for dead
and the world goes by so fast
these images
are dangerous
to my psyche and my heart
and I’m

scared to live
scared to live
scared to live

Autumn mornings start to bite
have to pull those covers tight
bring you in even closer
it might be a nasty winter

Another perfect morning
for sitting on the verandah
tasting the colour of the morning

The sky is blue and the sea is green
and I’m getting high on my brown caffeine
it’s another perfect morning

Some people might search all their lives for what I got
don’t want to boast
but I’ve suffered a lot
to get to the place where I am
to keep running at the pace I plan
is gonna take all my life
but some people search all their lives

Are you afraid of Ghosts?
Do you hear their voices
Like tyres on a wet road
Whispering past?

When you find a new love
and you can’t believe it’s real
pinch your cheeks to remember how it feels
a jewelry box full of glitters and sparkles

Looking for Ms Average

Not looking for a perfect partner
or a happy ever after
I just want to meet someone average
average job
average car,
average age
no gliteratti magazine face
just want to meet someone average

someone dependable and strong
someone with who I can get along
what’s the point of having a model
if you can’t talk about something real
not that I’m saying they’ve got no brain
but the TV plays it again and again
and I tend to believe
what I receive from the truthful box
I’ve seen skin jobs
nose jobs
boob jobs
and leg grafts
I’ve seen all sorts of things’
on the television
and I believe most of them
but what we don’t see
comin’ out of the screen
are the average Joes like you and me

so I’m not looking for a perfect partner
or a happy ever after
just want to meet someone average
average job
average car,
average age
no gliteratti magazine face
just want to meet someone average

Sunday walk 19 April

An open door
leaks the sound of a vacuum cleaner
somebody doing there chores

The things you need
to get a life started
a Bed
a washing machine
A TV

you can sleep
you can wash
you can entertain yourself
fully self contained
I’ve seen two out of three on there street so far!

Crossing commercial
a woman with two small dogs
one like a chihuaua with hair
maybe it was
Later in the park
trees with bark like elephant skin
grey and wrinkled
are they elephant trees?
Now the rains have come
the grass has turned from brown to green
a welcome relief

Bricks around the changing rooms
at the gardens
swirling patterns etched in stone
fans that blow wind on Film sets
Black bricks that remind me of smiles
a knotty hole in the side of a tree
that reminds me
of a home for a possum

At the Vietnamese bakery
I Never understand a word they say
it shoots out like a machine gun bullets
and I just nod
and pretend I’ve understood

Right now it’s foggy
the air has a tinge of moisture and damp
and I climb into my car
ready to run down the morning

ON going on a date?

Is it about an exchange of philosophies?
and what you believe
trying to really see
how the other person thinks
your expectations and
miscommunication’s

TO PHIILLIP ISLAND

Loaded up with all my stuff
all my paraphernalia
as I go walking along the beach
with cameras and wallets and mobile devices
I’m just a tourist

Could a relationship be a bus tour
could you just be a tourist?
not a resident in a relationship?
famous sites, cameras, brochures
travel agents
both on and adventure
Have I ever really been to you?
are we both on an adventure?
let’s go to Africa
or Tanzania
be a big game hunter

An orange tree
with bags attached
flapping in the wind
to scare off birds
squadrons of birds
take off in formation
moving left and right in unison
Pelicans fly by
hovering tin the sky
wings steretched out like like 747′s
the jumbos of the air
bullrushes quiver in the wind
uncertain
the feathers going to and fro

sunset over the bay
water changing from
grey to silver
leaving a mirror along the shore
a reminder

waves wash in
soaking the sand
leaving a moustache of seaweed along the side
waiting for the next high tide
the sky becomes dim and orange
and you know the evening has arrived
as the lights stream from cars going past.

In your footsteps

Am I following in your footsteps
or are you following in mine?
It’s hard to tell the difference
our lives are so intertwined

Is this an idea on loss of individuality in a relationship?
Should we pick up stones
and throw them in the ocean ogether?
listen to the roar of the wild water
instead of our voices again

When did I stop being me
and you stop being you?
Who’s heartbeat are we walkig too?
Whose dream are we following

have we lost site of the big picture
maybe we need to walk
on long deserted beaches
and think about the future
embrace nature’s features
see what it can do to us
see if our souls can reach us.

How far away have we grown?
All this living in the city
crushing you and me
not where I want to be
just want a place by the sea
where you can be you and you
I can be me

walking in your footsteps
on these shifting sands
rippled like the skin
of a tiger snake

We fuss and fiddle with technology
sometimes it get sthe better of me
I want to step back into reality

Dogs have no fear
they just come up and sniff
they’ve nothing to lose
maybe we could all become dog people

IF you close your eyes
and walk along a beach
all you hear
is the flow of the waves and water
feet scraping on the wet sand
the wind over your ears
you can feel the sun on your eyelids
the pressure of the heat on your face
you can walk though a gate and hear it.

Pre Sunday

What if your partner is an obsessive compulsive what sort of relationship would you have?
Always brushing your hair
adjusting your collar
can’t have a hair out of place

Carved dragons outside the ‘T-life’ store
City is humming with the buzz of a pre-match crowd

A ballet dancer walks
with toes splayed out
Is it a learned behaviour
that has become instinctual?
and how does that relate
to our unconscious minds
and the things that we have learned?
Does it prove we can be trained?
The amount of effort required.
How stubborn we can be!
about not learning new things.

Sparrows at Southbank
pecking at the ground
on the tundra of ashpalt
I wonder what there is for them to peck at
no grubs or grains that I can see
are they just following the lead
of those green jacket Bell-birds
who have infested the eucalypts
along Sturt Street lately
waking up the residents
with that piercing tone
at all hours
again I wonder ,
is it instinctual
or a learned habit?

April 15

Scenario

A door held open for a younger woman
by some man
In the hope that something might happen
a furtive glance
a wink of the eye

A woman reminiscing about when she was younger
How it doesn’t happen anymore
Now she’s invisible
Is she in a nursing home somewhere???

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Just this morning evidence of its presence, a yellow stain on the edge of the untainted white fingers of the can opener, a yellow stain, like nicotine – should I be quizzing it? Asking if it’s started smoking? Last night the kitchen was full of curried air, It wasn’t an active ingredient I added, but it came in a packet. Under normal circumstances, yes I would have my row of spices, lined up like soldiers waiting to fight at the front, either little bottles or plastic sachets, with the corners clipped just enough to allow the passage of single teaspoon at a time.

Fish Korma is a common one I do. I think there’s cummin and coriander [ground] too, some chilli flakes, maybe a real chilli – chopped. Careful to not get it on your fingers and foregetfully touch your eyes, because that has the kick of a hundred bull-ant stings, a thousand wasps with angry wings, it gets into your pores and stays for days sometimes. After I’ve roasted these in finest Gee, I add coconut milk and let it simmer away for hours or what seems like days.

Now Turmeric adds what I’d call a ‘dour’ flavour- occasionally its wound up on my fingers and out of curiosity I’ve taken a taste to see what it’s like and ‘dour’ is my conclusion – whereas the other members of the family are evident, Turmeric is not. I think it tames those other spices, call it the lion tamer of the spice world if you will, but yes it definitely brings it down a notch or two. And at the end when that fish has broiled for half an hour and you put it on the plate and your fork and knife scrape over flesh stained by the cancer of turmerics’ yellow power, along with the residue of oily Gee and the other spices, a Mexican hat dance takes place in my mouth. I need those slugs of neutral rice to cool things down, perhaps an ice cap of Yoghurt to allay the Aloo Mattah and some Naan bread to wipe the slate again – washed down with a crisp white chardonnay bought from the supermarket for 14.95 – 2003 vintage -Please! Yes all very nice – but last night was chicken tikka – I’ll save that fish for later, for another dinner somewhere back at home, when the floor boards are finally done.

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Varnished nails in showroom polished red need to be retouched re-coloured. Solution: nail polish remover. Death in a bottle for the hardened layer of acetate. A clear and present danger. She twists the top of the bottle. The polished nail hears it as a death rattle, the shaking of a cobra’s tail. The top separates from the mother ship in a lunar module dance. Whisps of deathly acetone orbit into the air, she wants to drink in its sweet alure the way she likes to take the top off marking pens and sniff – but that’s a dangerous game. She dabs the end of the brush in the thick sticky fluid and then applies it to the car bonnet finish on each finger.

Wait five minutes

With a damp cloth she begins to wipe away at each nail, the sunlit perfection hidden below appears her hand is a ray of sunshine by the time she has finished. Some touch ups with the acetone which seems cold on her skin as she brushes the hardened bristles against the cuticles around the nail. A quick polish with the cloth and she’s ready to apply the new coat of paint, today it’s a shade somewhere between pink and mauve. She shakes the tiny bottle and the air fills again with that biting smell that lies somewhere between turpentine and methylated spirits….

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You think you’ve played it smart, you’ve spun around on the towel, you’ve run down to the water – those grains of hot biting sand nipping at you heels. You’ve let the water clothe you with coolness before returning to your spot of carpeted real estate on the beach towel. It’s all good. At home the horror begins. In the bathroom, as you shower off the grit of the beach, as the fresh droplets of untainted water start to fizzle from the nozzle, you feel a mild discomfort and as you soap yourself up it seems to sting a bit. The towel feels as if it’s made of sandpaper. You hold it out over you like a stretched flag and the you catch site of your back in the mirror. It’s an angry shade of red, as if your back has been suffering embarrassments before the sun. Where your back meets the place your swimming togs rested there’s a clear demarcation line. You think of an empty plug hole and the hoops of decaying matter that surround it, you’re earmarked now. Your arms and face are the same.

Why didn’t you use sun cream? 30+ is essential these days, you know that! But some part of you wanted to re-live childhood and ignore all those responsibilities and now the prospect of shedding your skin in a couple of days is a reality. You stare at your stupid face in the mirror before swinging open the cabinet in search of some Savlon , or aloe-vera, thinking this might fight the problem. It’s oily as you slide the salve on. The aroma of medicinal hope rises and fills you nasal passages. For some reason you start thinking of hot meals you’ve had in the past; Mexican, Thai, Indian. That’s what your skin is tasting right now. The universal chef has had you on a spit and has twisted and basted you on every spare inch of skin, it’s going to be more painful than a bee sting when this thing hits home, you’ll probably toss and turn tonight fretting about wether it’ll be alright and if skin cancer might keep out of sight.

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THe big question is can I complete two albums – or at least get the backbones of two done in 3 months or so?

There will be two on the go simultaneoulsy…

Backlog: all the old songs that I haven’t yet recorded and
Forelog: The ones I’m working on now and will create in the next three months!

Last week I bought a keyboard controller to help in the process, today I upgrade to Pro Tools 8 and also buy a presonus portbale mic/midi interface – AND also take the Gibson acoustic and fender tele for a set up… then off to Phillip Island for four days of meditation and recording – I hope!

p.s. I have to get to 69 kilos from 78 by then as well – wow! that’s only 3 kilos a month… EASY!

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When you push that button on the front of your stereo, or ignite that Television with the remote control. When you start your car, or pick up your phone. It all begins right here with the circuit board. It’s a submarine running on silent just beneath the plastic surface of your favorite consumer product, no sonar no radio communications unless you push the buttons, silent, in green or black. Push down hard with a screwdriver and you can lift the back off your radio or player and it’ll being staring you in the face, almost as if you’re flying through the air. You’re a God looking down on a miniature city, full of components and transistors that bulge like oil tanks in a refinery.

The inhabitants of this world you control cannot be seen, they’re tiny tiny macro bodies swarm about upstream in the spaces between the neutrons and quarks. The flow of energy, potential energy flows from negative to positive in an instinctual universal pulse. Run your fingers over the board and you will not find them, but you will find nips and tugs from components soldered and welded into place for the usable life of your product. The underside is as dangerous as coral, sharp abrasive and unfinished , but on the surface it’s all neatly aligned streets and superhighways for the electrons to travel around, up and down, in and out. The roads are paved with gold for superconductivity. But what you see here are just fragments. Plunge inside the square innocuousness of an I.C. [integrated circuit] chip and it’s like going on a fantastic journey through your blood stream, the world you see on top repeated in miniature. Everything we do, everything we own is almost always governed by these tiny black chips, computers and cars, refrigerators, all pay homage to tthe I.C It’s a symbiotic relationship.

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As the lights came up it took the corner position just to the left of the drums, the trumpet player counted them in and a slow swinging river of music started to burst from the banks of the stage. A purple light reflected in mauve coolness from the polished wood and a series of Cool Hand Luke notes emerged from the basement of the bass’s chamber. They were down, way low. looowwwwwwww notes, coming out in plinks and plunks like raindrops off a roof after a good dowsing thunderstorm. You could almost smell the freshness of those notes that sat on the musical breeze the group was blowing.

The droplets of bass sat just behind the rattling bones of the kick and kettle drum and the shimmer of the cymbals. It looked kind of strange at first, almost like someone had taken a treble clef from a stave of music and blown it out of all proportion, but the driver seemed to know what he was doing with this bumble bee of the musical world. It seemed to have a big fat Dodo body but the call of this bird was not extinct by any means. As the set picked up pace the bass player must have been imprintng his scent deeper into the wraps of the metal strings, they were all working hard up there, a sheen of sweat on each brow. It looked like they were all bonded together and working as one unit. A small shower of sweat occasionally sprayed onto the bass as the player shook his head to get his long lock of hair out of his eye.

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It’s a commitment to actually go to a travel agent, a ticket with yourself that you really are going. You’ve seen that place in the shopping center, smelt it’s offerings several times as you’ve glanced past, almost being sucked into a brochure, always holding your head away but now you’re ready. You walk in and wait for some service, they look busy trying to climb inside there LCD screens to extract bargains. One of them notices you and with a hand over the speaking end of a phone they motion you to wait. You plant yourself on a seat that seems to have some moguls left over from the Nagano Japan winter olympics. Five minutes later you’re upgraded to business class and begin your discourse with the smart suited smiling agent of your dreams. Her fingers do ballet on the keys and before you can say ‘take off’ she’s got some rough figures and dates. She swings around the screen and there in radioactive green is the plan of your journey, the plan of your future, you think she’s some kind of seer . It all seems so clever, but wait. What if I take that route through there and there and an overnight…. the keys click with ‘can can’ dancer shoes and another range of options appear.

Do you have to decide now?

Not neccessarily- why not print it out or have a think, come back in ten minutes. You float out of the shop. Head filed with all the stops you might or might not make and head for the coffee shop on the corner, you order tea , strong, black and a small French pastry. Those can can Dancers swing their legs in your mind kicking your imaginations. The sweet balloon of glazed fruit and the puff pastry crackle in your mouth like you’re walking on a sheet of frozen ice on a lake and you might fall through at any moment, helping you make your decision. Your feet echo on faux marble tiles as you head back full of resolution…

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April 15

a colleague overheard
saying
“that’s the problem with teenage drinking,
a bunch of young girls were flaunting it on a train
attracting the attention
of drunken uni students zooming in on them
f’ in this f’ in that
the girls were apparently
an ‘insult to the profession’”

April 12- Sunday walk

Drooping rose heads
wilting down at me
from the top of a fence

Indian Minas [birds] they’re not singing but clicking
Hedges along the town-houses on Perth street need a haircut
a couple of chairs in the front yard
and an ash tray full of butts

The India Hut has changed its menu
now there’s a five percent discount on take-away
but the $20 non vegetarian deal now includes

2 shisk-a- babs
2 chicken tikkas
standard Lamb Madras
Butter chicken
2 PLain Naan breads
raita
Rice and 2 pappadums -

but it’s now thirty five dollars
instead of twenty
but hey! They’ve got to stay in business
and that’s what it costs
I won’t be returning at that price
I also noted the Thai Cafe
raised their rate by fifty cents
from six fifty to seven
I mean who’s going to go complaining about that
they win my business again

The Prahran hotel
usually adorned with chalk motifs
of what’s on
and what’s on special
is strangely blank
as if Easter came
and wiped it’s sins away

It’s Easter
‘it’s April and it’s still hot
at ten in the morning
it’s twenty five degrees

A fellow walks by
with a bunch of keys
jingling from his backpack
he’s like a lost cow
on the mountainous roads of the city

The site of what was once a brand name service station
became an Eco-friendly place
selling environmentally friendly petrol
made from recycled cooking oil and things distilled from crops.
It’s been demolished
with a billboard suggesting a brand new Hotel
and residential apartments
to be built on this spot very ‘soon’

For now it’s a series of mounds
surrounded by a chain link fence
wrapped in a cardigan of opaque shadecloth and nets
Inside it’s a lunar landscape
filled with weeds and excavations
and protruding pvc piping

I realizing there’s a lot of old buildings
around where I am
looking across to what was once my Gym,
- now closed down -
The building is quite elegant
with slotted windows
and clovered portals
and neatly contrasting brickwork
- reflecting the style of the church just down the road
between them towers
a construction crane
it’s dormant now
but will come to life again
when the holiday is over
after the ‘long weekend’
the big sleep in for all those who don’t believe
in he who saved the world.
That’s a strange thing
everyone was wishing me
a ‘happy’ Easter.
Should it be?
should it be more like
have a contemplative Easter?

Water mains
poking out of the ground
like the big claws of a Dragon
or a Gryphon
thick set gnarly pipes
you just want to sink your teeth in
to that back flow pressure

A train crosses a bridge sounding like a military barrage
Standing at a crossing, the traffic light poles click
Greek orthodox service on high street
the call of the cantor echoing out [ is it safe to cross?]

A small milk bar
someone emerges with their Sunday paper
there’s a particular smell in there
I can’t explain
I grew up in it
so it might have altered my brain
or made me immune
it’s dust
and it’s packets
and the latest unwrappings
of new things delivered
to be sold on demand

Temptation
it’s probably easy to ‘go there’
but it’s harder later
to deal with consequences
when you’ve engaged in actions

it’s not something you’d think about
while you’re driven by instinct
but consequences might be
shame or guilt
or not liking your name

the guilt you might feel
if you continue to steal.
Is a moments pleasure
worth a lifetime to measure?

A space near the housing commission
an oasis
in the deserts of concrete
and the boredom of the streets
branches reach out and support one another
trees planted weave together
a wicker basket that captures the light
and filters it
onto roasted almond autumn leaves

Construction cranes
how do they make them?
How do they get them up there?
This one seems to have an arm
the length of a football field
how did they build it?
Amazing!
There’s a ladder
it runs right up the middle
and everyday
somebody
must climb up to the cabin
and overcome
their fear of heights
fear of falling
so they can continue
with the construction
the all important task
but what if the man
operating the machine
had his share
of world wearying problems
and every night
he gets home
opens a beer
and watches something
on the mind numbing telly
and feeds himself
from the delicatessen
More beer? – imported or local?
his decision
‘as long as he feels ‘right’ in the morning
nothing matters
nobody cares
and what if he could overcome
his problems
the way he climbs up those stairs
in the mornings
with a target
full of purpose
knowing he won’t want to make a single mistake
listening closely for that whistle
or the squelch of static on the CB radio
he will overcome
he will overcome
his drinking problem

The Chapel Plaza Public Car Park
something I’ve never noticed before
even though I’ve walked this way
a hundred times
it’s hidden away on some upper level
you only see what you want to see don’t you?
Next Right
open seven days
24 hours
Pay and Display

Sunday breakfast at the Cafe Sienna
the one with Porsches and Ferraris

Why do celebrities marry each other?
is it because they share the same experience?

Puffy pigeons perched in the shade
of a tawdry town hall awning
puffy legs
starry toes
crooked necks
they come asking pleading questions

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