The iQ4 Creed

Although functioning again th’ stress it impressed 

upon me remains cogently real; it is like saying an 

iQ4 remote has more reign over your destiny than 

you can beguile against - if so inclined, or be that 

distressed as to try and find a ‘help’ number - but 

fail when tenor of suggestions seem less caring if 

you’ve opened the handbook to page 15. Well we 

found a small print number bottom of The Tree of 

Verity suggesting it might be of eventual use, and 

printed it - then tried the remote again; believe th’ 

‘holy mackerel’ effect or not, a bluetooth connect 

effected itself and th' Smart TV was iQ4-corralled 

back into th’ land o’ hand-held remote - & sanity, 

and the unsullied help-number for Foxtel is freed 

© 15 March 2019, I. D. Carswell 

When You’re Two

When you’re (nearly) two, going on (at least,) five 

& your name is Finn Gerrit Andrew Struik, there’s 

feasts o’ space for being discretely fey - thus his 

shrewd & erudite ‘astuteness’ isn’t too surprising, 

altho’ saying he believes he is but a baby, fails to

rationally surmise the suave way he engineers all 

events so subtlety you agree with and play along 

th’ same seminal path as his erstwhile eminence 

But he’s a great mate who knows th’ proper way 

blokes relate to each other; it’s like saying, this’s 

how things get done - give us th’ room, come in 

when we ring th’ changes right for you t’ see its 

okay to join in; for me it’s like a holiday because 

m’ wee pal kens exactly how t’ be a best buddy 

© 13 March 2019, I. D. Carswell

They’re Back Again!

Well, they’re back again! Th’ megapodiidae, or 

alectura lathami; brush turkeys in other words, 

we cannot feign being pleased - they’re ruddy 

pests who’re utterly impervious t’ suggestions 

they really aint welcome - geeze, there’s gotta 

be limits t’ how many times one has t’ tell ‘em, 

go away - you’ve 10,000 acres at your beck n’ 

call on the other side of that garden fence you 

deem The Gateway to Heaven. We’re pleased 

t’ inform you that digging up our gardens isn’t 

your natural role & we are not here t’ feed you 

grain - all we get in return’s a few terse grunts 

suggesting they’re going to complain a whole 

lot louder if we don’t restrain our belligerence 

Their attitude suggests we’re the cause of our 

own demise - altho’ we try to keep eco-sense 

alive and active, its not ‘their reference-frame’ 

and th’ game fails to have any commonsense 

they agree too; maybe we will have t’ arrange 

th’ re-institution of a ‘guard-dog’ impediment 
© 7 March 2019, I. D. Carswell 

Snow

We’ve had a classic guest these last few days, 

she’s been expressing her feline-fantastic zest 

for elaborate exaggeration in play, amazing th’ 

staid audience into ardently awaiting her next, 

breath-baited, melodramatic performance; we 

hadn’t had t’ wait too long before she decided 

we were okay, & leapt into bed - purring that it 

was intended t’ make us feel better than ‘old’ 

And it worked without perfidy - there is rarely 

a more cognisant ploy than ‘paying the piper’ 

in th’ same currency: & thus, we’re dedicated 

fans of our boarder Snow; while she is due to 

leave in a day, we’ll cogently retain memories 

of her amazingly adroit capacity to ‘entertain’ 
© 26 September 2018, I. D. Carswell 

Unpayable Expense

What does the future hold, will I be blessed with 

more of the same - or less of a sanctioned piety 

those denizens of a schenectady dream into the 

scheme of antediluvian being; we live in th’ new 

age of enlightenment expressed wherever rising 

suns ascend unhindered into th’ space freed by 

an ubiquity of seeing both sides equally; well, it 

used to be that way, or am I still the same naive 

mercifully gallant soul defending the rights, and 

freedoms, of th' downtrodden, dispossessed, & 

demonised innocents; it is th’ Teacher in me - a 

wholeness of what’d be our unanimity, if not for 

estranged instances o’ depravity where we’ll be 

accounted-renditions of an unpayable expense 
© 28 February 2019, I. D. Carswell

Freed Such Poverty

We’re getting there again - almost November and our 

Jacarandas are beginning to bloom; there’s already a 

swoon of lilac tinge under the first tree, she’s an early 

denizen - while th’ rest winge, hum and haw a bit but 

evidence suggests they’ll attune to Guy Fawkes Day 

It is a sign blessing th’ Seasonal Sway; we’ve moved 

from jeopardy onto the highway to where we’ll cruise 

comfortably ’til Christmas - bathing in the Lilac tones 

under our trees, debating how we can live without th’ 

pleasure of being groomed in such comely opulence 

How could one forget th’ carpet of purple shades we 

need to remember those good old days, and without 

which we’d grieve forever for events in a past tense - 

there’s the promise again, as rich in sumptuousness  

as the guarantees we’re freed forever such poverty 

© 30 October 2018, I. D. Carswell 

The Reign Of Relief

One of those macerated-days, & where fractious 

‘ministrations’ of nether-conceived weather biles 

hostility - yet in a sense, springs relief; tho we’ve 

needed it, prayed for it to come, pleaded for this 

treasure’s release upon our current ‘desiccation’, 

(we’d all but forgot what springing-green means) 

it’s then that it rains; what arrives seems to ‘end’ 

all th’ agonies, but it’s storm-cells form flooding 

Y’d guess optimistically, merely overnight angst 

for the few in wrong places but its assessments 

suggest many crops fell foul - thus the seasonal 

yields won’t fare well & shortfalls will fail to quell 

on-going debt from previous years. Then there’s 

a belief this is merely The Beginning of The End 

Even the Weather Bureau adds to the irony; their 

Southern Ocean’s temperature profile gives that 

eerie postulation its credence; but, we’ll survive, 

and make our way home to The Power Blackout 

we can’t possibly live without - 8 hours of it too; 

and now what d’ you do in an imposed vacuum, 

Given th’ continuous wet weather cower piously 

© 16 October 2018, I. D. Carswell