recent stuff by allan boyd - antipoet

it’s a lifestyle choice

17 Mar 2015

locked on to my dragon,
pepper-sprayed n wrenched
i’m a concrete warrior, immovable
defending this defenceless pocket
of karri, marri in the black mud
leaf-litter n sticks in my hair
staring up at the canopy at the cloud
under slow fat rain
or embedded in an open frack paddock action
go get an angle grinder to release me
when democracy is relentless, useless
so i’m locking on, again
coz we spoke softly then shouted
to the blind, the pin-striped leaders
the cloth-eared kings

the age of entitlement is over – sing it!

12 Mar 2015

It’s another eight-flag day in the capital
Another record broken.
The great nation draped in a cape,
A token of a hundred million
union jacks and seven-point stars
stretched from Geraldton to Cairns
from Hobart to Darwin
And when the age of entitlement is over
You’ll be working from the grave
Hands reaching for the timesheet
Hockey-whipped at the funeral home
“Get up and work nanna”, they’ll shout
From the watchtowers
And when the age of entitlement is over


27 Feb 2015

Emma Goldman: If I can't dance, I don't want to be part of your revolution.
cost me 300 dollars not to dance
to a sting, at a concert
said i’ll dance where i wanna
stand on my seat n sing Roxanne outta tune, if I wanna
so you can sit back n watch the back o my butt
swaying, lilting
you can see it swinging, and I’ll pirouette the aisles
in a rhythm, out to the 7/11
in a mini-mart spin, and spin and spin
and i’m jiggin up the escalator from the underground
up into the mall, all through town,

'Gone, Gone, Gone' by the Antipoet Alan Boyd

26 Feb 2015

20/02/2015 , 9:44 PM by Jamie Burnett

The man is an unlikely superstar. And as he says himself, who would have thought about poetry on the wireless?

But Allan Boyd writes it, recites it, and excites the audience on 720 ABC Perth late every Friday afternoon.

His rhyming couplets are radiant, his sonnets are sensational, his odes are outstanding. And his epics are, well, epic.


26 Feb 2015

peeled up from sticky blue carpet again
a strut-rush up Hill Street to the last train
before smartphones, before MP3 downloads
shared a mixtape,
got a local band new release EP cassette tape
before your burnt CD release
now you just steal it.
Going. Going. Gone.
the dank-dead ghost of a hundred thousand spilt beers
and im in a tux with high-top sneakers,
face in the speakers
escaped from another gig
needed a backroom/coolroom fix, fat sideburns
and I know dave’s at the Grosvenor, he’s door-bitch tonight

Invasion D

31 Jan 2015

this is my flag draped / over my ute / over my shoulders / like i need more enemies / i painted the cross on my face / lifted my fist at / the southern sun / at everyone / at anyone / i chanted my sweat / at those who will listen / and at the earless drones. / so, this day of / hot noise again / suburban glare forever / empty white drool / of my nation / my glass cracking on pavement / the hottest blood of all / of us / spilt flags in streets / should be half-mast / oi oi oi.

sit back crack a six pack

31 Jan 2015

on a friday afternoon
in the sticky city
ice in the esky, cricket, beer
in the guts of a stinker
a January cremation
sucking back a 2K Easterly that does nothing
does squat,
and it’s too hot to sit on the dunny
so we sit back crack a six pack
wait for the break
tell stories about no water in this country
like 61 days without a drop
think we in Bunuru now
not enough ice in this esky
a slurry and we
sit back crack a six pack
rumble cracks
like syrupy hope in 2am cloud