Paul J Penton – Songwriter

There’s a hundred stories in this little town
waiting to be told
I’ll unwind the history
some of which I know
some which I’ve imagined

Chris got all the girls in school
I wonder what he’s doing now
last I heard he was brickie
didn’t move to the city
wonder if he’s been faithful
and what about David
I wonder if he made it
out there in the old wild west
he had a brain the size of the outback
was runnin’ a cattle station last I heard

My friend Steven
I found his grave
while I was looking for my Mum and Dads’
we used to have our dreams
of being guitar heroes
playing Fleetwood Mac and Kiss
I’m still trying
why didn’t he get the chance?
he had family and kids
everything I haven’t
why was he taken
why him?
I have to make it for him

Didn’t see him much after I left
he joined the army and went to Sydney
wound up driving trucks
and flying transports
two of his dreams
rolled into one
He was living the life
but he was taken
and I just kept on ‘making a living’
the Australian dream
the quarter acre block
is that what I want?

Lots of places up for sale
3 in the street where dad used to live
I see they’ve put up a new screen door
and new flowers at the front
the roses were getting choked
when we cleaned up after he died
now it’s looking respectable
that old front yard

wouldn’t really call it home then
just somewhere to come
to get away
from the noisy city
five minutes of peace
in a lifetime of noise
I only realised recently
when I came back to visit
and I didn’t see him
‘that something goes on
back in this little town

though I ‘m disconnected
and far away now
there’s something that makes my soul sigh
whenever I’m around
like a reset button
for whatever reason
I guess it’s home
guess it’s home

I’ve been a traveling vagabond
never wanting to put roots down
wanting no commitments
to act like a noose
around this crazy horse
I’m just a free running train
without a caboose
that’s me
I’m free
or so I tell my self
but is it there really a freedom
in running from yourself all those years
finding different ways
to not to face who you are

I’ve been running so long now
I’ve forgotten who my real friends are
but glad I’ve found a place called home again
glad I’ve found a place called home again

The shop that I grew up in
is now a pizza joint,
I might go in next time I’m in town
to see the familiar roof line
that used to be our lounge’
now it’s part of the eatery
the sit down part with a cup of tea
or a cold can straight from the fridge
on a hellish red hot day
it’s calling me
calling me
that place called home

Maybe I need to buy some property
to settle down…..finally
in the place which I been runnin’ from
all my life
the place I been cursin’
for bein’ so dead boring
I could admit that I’m wrong

Isn’t it strange
that the thing
that you hate
could become the thing you love
with a small realisation
that you don’t have to keep runnin
it’s been there all along
that place called home

I went to mum and dad’s grave
they’re peacefully at rest
they had to fight great battles
to keep the world at peace
I’m grateful for their sacrifice
for makin’ the world a better place
but somehow I got left behind
in their million mile an hour race
to get on with their business
somehow I got missed
I got missed
but I’ve learned to forgive
yeah
learned to forgive
no matter how it was back then
I guess
there’s no place like home

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Time

It’s my observation
in our consumer driven world
that the one thing we want
can’t be bought
and that’s time.

Now when we were kids
it seemed there was oceans of it
it was all about filling in ‘time’
finding ways
to alleviate the boredom
games of cricket or football
any sort of game
to fill in the time
while our parents worked away
to provide enough money
to put food on the table
and pay for an education
it was just slipping away
and we didn’t know it

They knew it but we didn’t
the age old problem
that as you get older
it seems to go faster
and faster
until you look over your shoulder
to see yourself approaching
like a ghost
applying subtle pressure
to do things faster and faster
because time’s getting shorter and shorter

So now it’s all about allocation
making sure each moment
is measured for an outcome
it’s the last known natural resource
it’s the thing that you can’t waste
the thing you can’t call back again
so make each moment count
tick it off
tick the boxes
that proves that you’ve done the most
to advance your cause
don’t waste this,
don’t waste this time

If only it were balanced out somewhat
when we’ve got all the knowledge
at the end of our years
if only it could be spread thickly and melt
like butter on warm toast
that’s how time should be used

so yes, you can’t ‘t buy time
you can buy other people’s time[that's work]
you can only make time
by getting up early or going to bed late
making scarificies
but you can’t buy time
if someone could
they’d be a thrillionaire

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The concrete cutters

I’m waiting for my chicken tender-loins
looking out over Fawkner park
the trees seem to be having an afternoon nap
a lunchtime class in kick boxing is under way
merciless pounding
upward thrusting
sexual energy being released.
Is it a bunch of workmates
working out their frustrations over the boss
is he the target in the middle of the gloves
anyway

Concrete Cutters sit in a swirl of smoke
in the outdoor area
right behind me
occasional tufts of nicotine drift by
I keep up my mantra to take temptation away
there’s no consideration
in their exhalation
for other people who are eating

He’s a Larr-i-kin
a funny bugger
he’s talking about this machine
a big one – from what I can make out.
It cuts holes in concrete
probably like those things you see
when they’re fixing up a street
all hissing pipes and water
and steam
it can’t be his
he must just be one of the employees
because he keeps mouthin’ off
’bout this bloke who runs the thing
for example;

He was meant to meet him
at some job the other day at six a.m
he got there, hung around an hour went back home
turned up again at nine
just as the ‘boss’ was making his presence known
He asked the boss ‘where were you’?
‘whaddya mean’ was the reply
you told me to be here at six
oh’ yeah
I forgot ,….
DICKHEAD he says

So his current predicament revolves around blades
it seems there’s a few types
concrete,brick, tar, masonite
you name it there’s one for every occasion
the job he’s doing right now
or this morning
he starts sawing through the greyness
and has to exert a heap of additional pressure
to get the result
he would normally get

He stops the machine
looks at the giant silver ring –
BRICK emblazoned on the side
he calls the boss to say you’ve given me the wrong blade
his repsonse- ‘TURN IT ROUND’
Bloody hell says the bloke “I already tried”.
You gotta get me the right sort of blade
or this will take 5 weeks DICKHEAD –
or words to that effect.
He boasts to his lunch mate that he often calls the boss that
‘DICKHEAD’
and still has a job

The other smoking companion
laughs at appropriate moments
and tells his own story of cutting through a wall
standing on scaffolding-
probably without a safety harness on
revealing how the grinder jumps
when you hit the reinforced steel
inside the wall
sounds scarey
all those teeth
whirring away
just one buck cut cut you into pieces
they erupt from the table suddenly
and twitter their way
back to the adventure of building…

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July 5th

The shining

When things are wet they shine
roads shine
leaves shine
grass shines
these otherwise dull things
take on life

Flutes

Flutes of flowers
on a Eucalyptus tree
muted yellow tubes
with thin fingers
ready to catch pollen
and bees
ready to mate

Sun Shower

Just a hint of rain
not really enough to stop me continuing
but enough to make me notice
and maybe take a moments shelter
underneath a historic Elm
watching it drift down
it’s not like it’s falling vertical
but being carried on drfiting winds
almost going sideways
lit up by the sun’s rays
that leak through a canopy
of naked winter branches

Squadron

Trio of aircraft
flying past
Harvards
I don’t get the fascination
such a low lumbering elephant in the air
why do people fly them?
Worse than a Dakota
in my opinion
trying to think why they might be doing a fly-by
today
4th of July – eleven A.M.
not like we celebrate independence day or anything
the radial motors chuggle along
their sub harmonic frequencies
bounce off the glassed facade of the hospital
and hit my rib cage like a kick drum.
What was it like during world war 2?
when those sounds might have meant
death
or injury
loss of home and family
the motors of death
whirring away
through history

Reading Journeys

Sitting at the front,
a double decker
in a bubble curved round like sixties furniture
ducking my head as the branches hit the windscreen

Reading bus station
a cathedral with a choir of deisel engines
humming their song of journey
and miles
and passengers

walkways and steps in rough concrete
leading up to the shopping centre
Marks and Sparks
Tescos or its equivalent
being dragged around
feeling boredom
holding on until the ‘treat’
the toyshop
rows of model aircraft
in colourful boxes
waiting to be bought and built

cups of tea in the Marks and Sparks cafe
or was it Woolworths
eggy bread, pastries

3.20 Train journey

Behind me two lads
private school I reckon
recognise each other and start chattin’
the conversation is a little halted
they don’t know each other too well
might have played football
the conversation revolves around football
“who you playin’ for”
“Are ya on your way to trainin”
it runs out of puff – the conversation
then a new question
“Yyou got a girlfriend?”
“No too much trouble”
“I got a few girls on the go,
but nothing serious though”
‘too much trouble’ he says,
“what about you?”
“No, not bothering”

An Indian girl
deep South I suspect
her skin
chocolatey black but her eyes are blacker
the cliched’ cinder
in each one
but she radiates a beauty
and knowing
attractive to engage in

The rock star wannabe
hair spiked in crazy waves
tall
thin
gangly
with a leather jacket
and a mobile
attached like a limpet mine
to his ear
setting up the next deal
he knows about style
and fashion
and what matters
could he give me some lessons?
might be a bit too old for that

Down the carriage is a face and eyes
I’ve seen in a hundred posters and films
he’s not the famous one
but looks just like him
with blonde curls
and straight ahead eyes
he’s talking to a girl
just friends I think
but then at Richmond
his doppleganger gets on
it’s almost like looking at television
when it looks at itself
a reflection
is appearing down the carriage

Part of me thinks I should buy the Taylor Swift CD
to assess the current level of production
to see how to make my drums sound ‘right’
and get those guitars real chunky
I resolve to go to J.B. Hi Fi
that afternoon.

As I walk into Collins Place
there’s a ‘discount CD store’
selling the very record I want
for fifteen dollars
is this a coincidence?
there’s also other ‘classics’
James Taylor’s greatest hits
E.L.O
Billy Joel
Linda Rhondstadt
are these all parallel imports?
How can they sell them cheap?
I buy a heap
hmmmm.

I pass the shoe repair man
a key making machine is grinding
and behind his right ear
hang pairs of shoes
their faces
their soles
pointing outwards
they shine
shiny soles
I wonder what a shiny SOUL would look like?
untainted
holy
pure.

On the Street

A woman looking very forward
knowing where she’s going
running the footpath
like a teflon bullet
shooting through the crowds

A drummer on the corner
Elizabeth and Flinders
making use
of garbage can lids
ice cream containers
anything he can whack
to produce a noise

Sunday July 12

Sunday morning
chilly
the air has a bushy smell
vegetation
the whole suburb seems sleepy
like a country town

I pass an old Scwheppes sign
in pale orange
someone’s stuck them on an old outhouse
there’s also a topper ice cream advert
in light blue

Housing commission buildings
in the midst of Prahran
now in the middle of gentrification
what if-
I I had no money
couldn’t work
my current rental ran out
and that was my only option?

There’s a fellow with a box
it’s resting on the pavement
I think about helping
after I’ve gone past
he looks kind of lost
might have an intellectual disability
am I being uncaring
callous
just waking by
or is it not in me ‘naturally’

A girl on a bike brushes by
must have had the same thought as me
retraces her tracks
asks him if he needs help
but is refused
maybe I would have got the same answer
maybe he likes it that way
what does it say about
‘don’t get involved’?

OLD Prahran

Around Hawksburn
it feels like I’m in a country town
a lot of old buildings
in orangey brick
big blocks of land
fancy windows
some two story places
with elaborate wrought iron fences
pointy elongated pyramids on top
like witches hats with the top cut off
an old church
grand buildings
these give way to modern blocks of flats
along Cromwell road
but there’s a few old places
crumbling into ruin
Kenjil
Bruthen
names embossed in fading stone
gutters running down
front yards in disrepair
probably a student rental
probably worth a million dollars each
land value Only
or maybe they’re heritage listed

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Tall stories
always adding an an element of  drama and intrigue
making things larger than life
bigger than they appear
he wa great at doing that
telling those tall stories
tall as the masts on the square riggers he sailed on
tall as the glasses of beer he laerned to do it with
tall stories

Confectionary free

I thought this was an aisle
where you could not buy confectionary
upon enquiry I discovered 
confectionary was not available
to those little fingers of little children
they would not be tempted
on the way through

Reaching out
fingers stretched
for bright wrappers
enticing colours
sucking you in
making your hands reach out

You remember the last time
you tasted pleasure
and your brain threw out chemicals
pathways of pleasure
released in advance
of what it will be like
to have another kiss
another glance

But mum knows best
she’s headed straight toward
the aisle with the sign
‘confectionary free’
no temptations today
just a round of magazines
the latest on Brad and Angelina and jen
and the death of Michael Jackson
and pack of ‘ransom-
“Twenty fives”
They’re insatiable
like that hunger for the lollies
That lies between the purse and the trolleys
at lazy checkout lanes
at the supermarket
Overheard – “I did the world a favour, I did

Poverty

you might own acres of property
but if no-one loves you’
you’re living in poverty
you can have all the money in the world
fast cars and call girls
but if nobody loves you
you’re not free
you’re living in poverty

Getting There

Hey!
I know people who are ‘getting there’
with their brand new kitchens
their plasma televisions
their buns in the oven
living out the lives they imagined
the life they planned all those years ago
but where does it get you
in the end?
when you’re really gone

Yeah. I see them
chained in suburban bondage
slaves to the kids and the mortgage
always in a daze – exhausted
wondering how to divorce
form their present reality

Some people seem worried
about what’s in store for me
I didn’t make that choice you see
and when I turn Old and grey
who is going to look after me?
I don’t believe in that far ahead
just a day at a time
I might be soon be dead
so just one day at a time

Those choices made long ago
forced on me by circumstance
choices made for me really
just been following the script
playing my role
it’s got me to here
wherever here might be
developing my character
through trials and tribulations
the only thing is
there’s no standing ovations
no fans at the door asking for autographs
it’s a singular choice
a strange path – but really
it’s not for me
that other life.
Sunday wak June 28

Crisp
blue skies
taste the clarity of teh air as you breathe in
so cold you smell it in half frozen nostrils
sun still low
eleven in the monring
loking up at electricity pylons
their complexity
of knotted and tangeld wires
where they cross from the other street
and intersect in  spider web lattice
supported by porcelain kunuckles
the chit chat of Indian minors echoes
from the roof tops

A man slides by in a motorised buggy
like my dad had
an orange flag for visibility
flaps casually in the breeze
he wears a beanie to keep his head warm
a red flashing light signifies the rear of the vehicle
he goes shooting off down the footpath
creaking over the cracks

A tree besides the Freemasons retirement village
actually at the entrance way
its leaves are now completely golden,
nothing green at all
glowing in streams of midday sun

Poplars
their white pasty bodies
sprouting boughs and branches
and then smaller tentacles
that drip down in shrinking submission
thin reedy fingers
waving in the wind
bare of leaves as winter is approaching
The only trees with any clothes on
are the Eucalypts

turns come gliding in to land on the lake
their wings flapping furious
legs paddling in mid air and in the water
aiming for the central bread throwing position
be-ware of the swans
they’ll try to take it away from you

Rowing Instruciton

Stroke, stroke
not sure if this is coming from on board
or form the coach traveling along on dirt track
beside the lake
he tells them to rest
his nasal tones
emanating from a megaphone
echo and bounce off the water
to us on the other side
who are quietly going about our business
of circumanavigating the pond
all five kilometers of it

11 am city still shrouded in mist
not going to lift
how do aeroplanes navigate it?

the Basics of life?

Love Fear Anxiety Peace happiness sadness shelter company food money home entertainment care future past present a job

Grass
uncut
maple leaves are caught in it
sitting upright
vertical
in dying autumn brown

Trees along the road have superfine branches
which from a distance
give us the illusion
that they are out of focus
 -do not adjust your reality

SONG IDEA/ CONCEPT
- HOW DO YOU KNOW
how do you know that this person you’re about to meet
might be someone or something you want to hang out with
How do you know before you meet them?

How do you know if you’ve got he jog
b
how do you know

car turning right stretched across the road
turns the corner
he got tooted
makes me think of road rage

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A grey overcast morning
taxi arriving at 6.53
stepping out into a brisk memory
of chilly winter mornings
the taxi atmosphere
warps around me in a blanket of safety
hopefully like the journey before me

Check in
forms filled
waivers waived
credit cards swiped
health insurance checked
all looking good and above board

Not sure what to expect
ascending the lift to level one
I hand in forms
and they direct me to bed 11
- a private room
the window broken
with a lightening of sky

a series of practitioners call
one inspects me veins
and installs a Catheter
in my left hand
it aches for hours after
is that normal?
A slight prick
as he burrows in
under the skin
and applies a series of plasters and things
leaving me with a plastic tube
and an attachment hose
I feel like a cyborg
ready for a dose

Another nurse comes to check me
with an ECG
does the test but is called away
and does it again and remarks
“you read about it,
but this is the first I’ve ever seen”
‘Wolff-Parkinson-White’
blood pressure normal
like everything else

a small elephant
rests on my chest
just a foot or maybe a leg
but I know it’s there….
he plays with the butterfly
on the left ventricle
that continues to flutter and tickle
will this go away?
she asks how do I rate it
on a scale of 1 to 10
- maybe 3 I say

an assistant is next to visit
a little less confident than the others
explains the procedures
that once in place
the probes will come up through the thigh
the groin
it’ll all be on the screen
that area in my heart
with the extra junction box
will be exposed to a series of shocks
to help them learn
how dangerous this is
later I learn I have been ‘oblated’
the surgeon drops by to check in
all ready then

A male nurse gives me
two sleeping pills
so by the time they wheel me out
I’m slightly out of it
I trundle to just outside the theater
funny thing is
I don’t know what time it is
I’m aware as they feed me
drips through the catheter
as they burrow into my regions down nether
and I slip into a half land
a half place
where I’m aware of numbers being called out
and the lights flash on and off
and pictures of wires probing my inside
are displayed on LCD screens

I’m sat outside the operating theater
as I sit there they monitor
later I’m told there might be another oblation needed
I’ll wear a monitor for twenty four hours to assess the need

back in the room I snooze and drift
time seems to have disappeared
haven’t eaten since last night
and can’t eat now -another procedure is to follow
the drip machine to my left feeds me saline or drugs or something

when I’m aware again I ask the time
3pm
another hour ’til the next procedure
an angiogram with pictures of my veins
I’m uncomfortable in this bed
my back aching
wanting to move my leg
but being told to keep it straight
the secondary catheter still in my groin
a second penis I have grown
temporarily

4.30 pm procedure two
taken and waken again
almost straight through
an Indian doctor
explains the procedure
says there’s a point three percent chance of things going wrong
blood clots
hemorrhages
reactions
a few things
I sign a form disinterested and drowsy

In the theater it seems to be only five minutes
more drugs administered
a warm flush as dye is released into the blood
pictures taken
and then back to the room
to sleep, to rest
with more drugs

I sleep what seems a couple of hours
I wake and ask
“what time is it”
10 pm!
I need to eat
hungry
he gets a cup of tea and some sandwiches for me
don’t move about too much they tell me
the night passes
turbulent sleep
keeping that damn leg as straight as possible
and the bad back making it intolerable
longing to get back to reality
the stream of humanity
the life I know
though this has been
a pleasant stay
by all accounts
they’re really very nice!

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He works on the ferries
blue overalls and a friendly smile
“good luck mate’ he says
as we set sail
the ferry pulls away
rocking on Sydney Harbour
we sway under the bridge
bound for Darling Harbour
and Milsons point
the engines are vibrating
up through the hull
into the frame of the seat I’m sitting in
a celestial harmony of straining bearings
sing through the vessel
as we glide slowly with the waves
the harmonies abate as as the power is applied
the engines now are unharmonic voices
stuck in a drone
with the power down
the mumble of the motors
shakes the boat from side to side
rumbling as the power dies
as we glide
into Milsons Point
pointy triangle top waves
dance in green and grey

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A girl on the train
in a school uniform
cheeks blushed red
hides in the corner
a Maori boy
is acting cool
she’s looking at him
you can tell she’s keen
maybe tonight
she’ll write about him
in her diary
confess her love
express her dreams.
Maybe by the end of the week
she might talk to him
bump into him
accidentally on purpose on the train
just like she planned to do last week

She’ll be cool
and offhand
just like her dreams
She doesn’t wear the clothes
like other girls
but she’s got something
if only he would notice her-
but she’s hiding in the corner
she thinks he might have
a tender heart
beneath his cool exterior

The boy carries on
acting for his mates
telling jokes
in a maroon jumper
He probably plays football
with those coat hanger shoulders
They hold up his frame

He doesn’t notice her
the shy one in the corner
every day on the train’
she longs to be noticed by him
longs
she chooses the carriage that he is in
to be next to him
hoping
he might notice

But the train just creeks and rattles
passers by jostle
to escape to the platform
it stops at every station
this train full of commuters and punters
on their way to work
dressed in corporate uniforms
lit by flickering fluros
closed in by beeping doors
that say “stand clear please”
“stand clear please”
but she can’t stand clear of him

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Morning-
it’s wet outside
7 am pickup
now I’m in a room that’s humming
with air conditioning
an ECG thing
a chest pain incident
means the nurse is whisked away

Catheterized
a tube attaches to my hand like a Cyborg
A string of people have come to visit
and fill in forms and
to make sure I’m warm and ready
for the procedure

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Pelicans soaring on thermals
I would never have considered it
circling on lazy wings
higher and higher
no flapping
these elephantine imaginings
simply soaring

momentum
it carries our lives in directions
that we otherwise wouldn’t have seen

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