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Thylazine: The Australian Journal of Arts, Ethics & Literature                                                                                                                                    #2/thyla2k-gg AUSTRALIAN POETS SERIES 2 The Poetry of Geoff Goodfellow Selected by Coral Hull [Above] Photo of Geoff Goodfellow by photographer unknown, 1999. I No Complaints I Skin Deep I A Handful I Grace I Poem for Annie I Moved On I No Complaints Three sons     & we were all taught to shake hands like a man firmly but not too hard the old man would say "never a wet fish     & don't trust anyone who'd give you a wet fish" we didn't kiss the old man after our tenth birthday     "you're mean now & you'll touch the glove     there's no cows hoofs in our mob" he'd say through the last few months as the cancer was white-anting him    i began to kiss him on his grey forehead     just below his grey hair he didn't complain. Published in Overland (Australia). Skin Deep Northfield Womens' Prison where cracks in the walls     echo the fractured lives of inmates in a teenage building      set on the same foundations as the occupants       The Department patches walls there's no underpinning       walls or lives the prison's cosmetic & rehabilitation      skin deep the front gates sit like massive pop-dog racks       & open      as electric as the atmosphere       their impulses run on power        others      are cut by power in this prison you don't eat prunes      movements are controlled if you're a minute early      you wait a minute if you're a minute late      you wait 29 you're taught how to be mechanical how to cook     clean     sew & knit but you're not taught      how to mend        or untangle Prison lawns are manicured      rose bushes pruned a photographer's dream      but inside plaster & lives fall apart & the women know      even cosmetics need foundations. Published in No Collars, No Cuffs (Friendly Street Poets, 1986). A Handful He was mounted on the footpath      his head tilted back & angled away from me but i knew it was him the afternoon sun was low & unkind       & light richocheted off his acne scars & his blue eyes rolled in their sockets he looked like he'd swallowed a handful of Rohypnol      or it could have been Serapax       but it could have been a whack i'm no expert on these things       but he was somewhere else besides Semaphore Road i'd known him seven years back when he was on the Methadone      saw him straight for week after week        after month... pushing his red headed baby up & down Osmond Terrace       & dodging the dealers i called out      get off the street y' mug- we don't want your type in Semaphore it took a while for him to focus        but eventually his eyes fell into mine ah      it's you Geoff       i thought someone was serious for a moment         hey this is my daughter - you remember her eh        i'm taking her for a swim there was some small talk...       they headed for the beach when they left      i wanted to say to him look after her but i said to her         look after him. Published in Semi Madness (Goodline Press, 1997). Grace It is 35 celcius & my five year old daughter       Grace      has just come home from school wearing a blue check uniform       brown sandals & a heat flush the house is shrouded in darkness she draws the vertical blinds on the picture window overlooking St. Vincent Gulf        looks out across the Esplanade        & says - in a dead-pan voice         the sea is as flat as my chest less than a month at school       & already - she has mastered metaphor. Published in Semi Madness (Goodline Press, 1997). Poem For Annie In a space of twenty years she's had three husbands     three names & three children to remember two of them & it's only in the past five years      they've worked out who they are but she knows about work -     she's spent a lifetime doing it     typing endless words (including these)      or using others to answer phones     always too busy to check the pedigrees of those she stayed with      & they've all turned out mongrels    that couldn't/wouldn't work they beat her badly in each deal     or in the middle of the night & she looked on while friends got diamond rings     & learned to hide when she got black ones & then she met Brian    poor        poor            misunderstood Brian who needed a mother    not a wife but they never married    she just lived with him - 'til he jammed a glass into her face     smashed two teeth & slashed her lower lip but she's laid charges now -     & that's a first but only because he showed no remorse     was what she told me & when her second son informed her that he'd found him     & smashed him in the face with his motor-bike helmet 'til he cried NO MORE       she cried you'll never beat violence with violence & it isn't just her hair that's fair but mum     i warned him when he blackened y' eye six months ago      i told him i wasn't a kid to tell a lie her stitches came out yesterday     & make-up will hide that slightly visible scar the deeper one she's been working on with sedatives & the crowns go on in two weeks time      so i can't call her fang & i can only hope that then     she'll never be crowned again. Published in Bow Tie & Tails (Wakefield Press, 1989). Moved On after the positioning of a flower bed in an area of lawn fronting the Hilton Hotel, Victoria Square, Adelaide previously occupied by Aboriginals for socialising. sundrenched flowers stand      where people sat a staggered circle in the square       looking up to doors that open       closed to them squeezing juice from necks of flagons losing life       short bursts of mouth to mouth       resuscitate a courage lost       & drown their dream while politicians pass in office hours       feed promises of crusty loaves & deliver goods      as empty as their words the sun is gone       & wilted stalks & drooping heads remain      while others search for beds       & International lights that shape the square wink down they've moved the circle on. Published in No Collars, No Cuffs (Friendly Street Poets, 1986). About the Poet Geoff Goodfellow Geoff Goodfellow was born in Adelaide in 1949, and began writing in 1982 when a severe injury forced his early retirement from the building industry. A 'poet for hire', Goodfellow is well-known for taking poetry to building and construction sites, jails, factories, offices, youth training centres, drug and alcohol rehabilitation units, private and state schools, colleges, universities, regional and remote areas, homes for the criminally insane and corporate boardrooms. As writer-in-residence at various universities Geoff has toured Cuba, the USA, Canada, the UK, Europe and China and has been a feature guest at major literary festivals. Geoff lives in Semaphore, heartland of the working-class, in South Australia. Geoff Goodfellow's publications include: Poetry: No Collars No Cuffs, (Friendly Street Poets, 1986, 1988, Wakefield Press, 1989, 1990, 1991, 1992, Goodline Press, 1997), Bow Tie & Tails, (Wakefield Press, 1989, 1990, 1994, Goodline Press, 1997), No Ticket No Start: poetry from the building sites, (Wakefield Press, 1990), Triggers: turning experiences into poetry, (Wakefield Press in conjunction with the Australian Association for the Teaching of English, 1992), Semi Madness: voices from Semaphore, (Goodline Press, 1997 and Common Ground, 2000).    [Above] Photo of Geoff Goodfellow by photographer unknown, 1999. I Next I Back I Exit I Thylazine No.2 (September, 2000)