Selbstdarstellung von Tim Train: "...leckt nicht immer Parktrinkwasserbrunnen und Parkbänke. Manchmal werden sie von ihm nur gekuschelt. Er wohnt in Melbourne, Australien, schreibt Gedichte und Geschichten, und erzählt sie seinen Katzen - die sind leider nicht so oft amüsiert. Vor dem hässlichen COVID-19-Lockdown hat er seine Dichtung gerne an vielen Theken und in Cafés gelesen und war MC für die fortlaufende Veranstaltung Poetry at the Dan O'Connell. Sein Buch HANGOVER MUSIC (Ginninderra Press 2018) ist auf Amazon erhältlich. Seine Fb-Autorenseite heisst THAT WEIRDO POET"
Me and myself went out on a date -
He looked in my eyes and he said that "I'm great!"
I caught at his hand as I whispered, "me too!"
And so we got married right then (as you do).
The wedding was perfect, but at the reception
I caught him making sweet love to me in reflection.
We broke up that day. I was sad. He was hot.
And who am I now I'm the man that I'm not?
An ism and an asm met an umble in a hood
And together planned an enture to an ingle 'cos they could -
With no small amount of imsy (for they were not at their est),
They pulled out all their ichals as they set out on their quest.
If the ism and the asm had the ander and the ness,
Then the umble was no ot, for he hadn't any less -
But their ology was atic, and in spite of all their uck,
They all undered in an igma with their astic - they were stuck!
Well, they iddled with their ichals, to the irst, the urth, the ixth!
But the astic would not asticate, though their icks were at their ickth -
So, flexing bows and igits, even to the nth degree,
With feats of ight and ength and urance, our little band came free!
So wardly then they wandered, no more wardly could you find
Than their wandering and wending through the wilds of the ind -
There were ungles, lush and pical, there were illos, there were heits,
And with ation, they were conquered by the joining of their ights.
'Til late one ing all indle, by a kling and uous rill,
O'er lot and lock most iful, they ambered up a hill
And aking on the vision then of our urous team,
'Twas the ingle, oble ingle, jestic ingle of their eam.
Oh the otions then were euous, not a dry eye to be found,
As the ism and the asm and the umble in an ound
Came down to the etic ingle, and orious their cry!
(And if the asm didn't asm, I'd have to wonder why.)
What an udge, O, what an iddle was on the ingle there that day
And on that ovely ingle, I'm told, they'll always stay.
Crossing light buttons
Gently responsive to touch
That click, smooth and sensuous,
The tick tick tick
As you wait to cross
For who amongst us has not been moved to hug
A crossing light pole,
From time to time,
A petrol bowser,
A particularly saucy-looking public water bubbler,
To lick them,
It's been so long inside
That I almost forget what their touch is like,
And this one particular park bench,
Sissy was her name,
Was surprisingly proficient in all the positions in the Karma Sutra and The collected works of Alex Comfort,
Considering she was a metallic object rooted in concrete
Do you remember our romantic dinners together
Our long nights
Until the inevitable complaints from the neighbours
It was then that we discovered what community was really about
But that was a long time ago
About a month
And I am a changed man
No longer do I inhale
Used cigarette butts
Used cotton wool buds
Before dousing them in methylated spirits first
Yes, yes, quarantine has changed us all
No more do I fondle door knobs with shuddering fingers,
Eyes closed, murmuring,
I know that now
I have grown
In so many ways
I miss all these things