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The poetry of Alexander Doodis

Please enjoy the poetry of doodis; one of Australia's most popular and widely read poets.

When the voice inside you screams, "YOU CANNOT DO IT!!!"
- that is the time you must sit down and write.

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The Pendulum of Christ


You became compassion,
swinging like a corpse on a pendulum.
There you were,
a blue-eyed boy, no longer a rock
but a sponge full of holes.
You were human, and that broke you,
and in your broken state you cursed
and smashed whatever you thought or touched,
and whatever touched you.

You became compassion,
swinging like a corpse on a pendulum -
at times you gave up in despair
and went off to roam the edge of your desert
like a mad person,
round and round your little world,
until you realized that the entire world was the Promised Land.
You slept in the shadows
and walked by the shore of your miraged lake
and you understood that a life
must gorge itself on life.

You went for a walk and never came back.
You suffered so hard on your circular journey
that one day you decided never to return
and your circle became a pendulum.
You became compassion,
swinging like a corpse on a pendulum.

As a child you were a heart
too willing to dream of grace and ease,
but you were dancing with polar bears
across the shrinking ice,
cherishing what was real.
Your love became a sore -
a wound that time could not heal,
and you thought you may as well die -
and let the world get on with its dreams.

You became compassion
swinging like a corpse on a pendulum,
but beneath your smile swam your full humiliation;
the last time you were certain of anything
you turned out to be looking at a mirror -
a mirror stuffing itself with light...
then darkness...
then light...
then darkness...

Shaken, your disciples -
the ones you most loved and trusted -
glued your thoughts and deeds into a mosaic of words
and you became words -
and reason seeks what reason knows.

They invented labels as they pleased, and the masses crouched in madness in darkened caves
shouting slogans you failed to understand.
Words... Words... Words...
Every word allowing for its own genocide.
No word is ever innocent,
but you thought your words could teach us to survive.
You were wrong!

You became compassion
swinging like a corpse on a pendulum,
and history is an incurable disease
where each murdered soul is a monument -
they are buttercups whose sum is infected by shame.
Your words of love became weapons,
and opportunities were squandered in your name.

We are given less than we must give -
you were given less than us.
Everything you labored for was swept away,
like a sandcastle torn by the rising tide -
and your thoughts again swung away to the dark side.

You became compassion
swinging like a corpse on a pendulum,
and all great ideas must eventually lead to death,
and we all die of this congenital aberration called 'history'.
Change without requires change within
and each of us remains the cause of our sin,
but your eyes turned back to Paradise
and your memories turned to stone,
whilst those who struggle to succeed
cut each other's throats.
What better punishment than to know
your memory will be cared for
by your enemies?

There you are,
a blue-eyed boy who is no longer a rock
but a sponge full of holes.
You are human and that is breaking you,
and everything you labor for is swept away
like a sandcastle in the rising tide.

You are compassion
swinging like a corpse on a pendulum,
and we,
as a result,
are in no position to have positions.

(c) doodis

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