Excerpts from my poetry book "Original Copy"

My poetry book "Orignal Copy" was first published April, 1997.  Named because you can never have an original copy. Books were signed with an "Original Copy" stamp.

Cover Design: Steve James (Genesis Art P/L)

Illustrations: Lyn Francis & Bea Jones

Photographs: Alex Stravopolous

Copyright © Mark Tindall 1997.

ISBN 0 646 31585 4

For Bev. - In celebration of 21 years. I love you.

Badger (Dr Brett Tindall). - Your user friendliness led to a mortality experience but you tolerated my Vogon poetry.


From the back cover blurb ..........

I first met Mark Tindall in 1992 at the poetry readings around Newcastle. His work stood out. it was clear, outward looking and comprehensible. refreshingly non-narcissistic. And as a result - popular.

Diverse in style and theme - from searching satire, indignant invective and biting irony, to the tenderly lyrical, this collection is a true reflection of Mark's poetry, his philosophy, and his world view.

Whether one poses an individual spiritual solution to the crisis of humanity or a social political remedy, or both - ORIGINAL COPY offers stimulating, entertaining reading.


GIBBO (Matthew 23)

G'day Gibbo!
I'd like to have a little chat
your most irreverent Reverendship
if you'll take the time
to step down from your pious pulpit
and remove your coat of many deceptions
as black as your blood

I've visited your whitewashed sanctuary
built to protect endangered species
of bigots, hypocrites and Pharisees

I sat in your pews
bored to death
with Jesus by my side
dressed in casual gear

we were placed up the back
so we wouldn't spoil the well dressed flock
of sheep without a shepherd
baaing and following each other
in respectable bland fashion

as you sang a dirge of hymns
written by dead people
for people dead inside
Jesus yawned, closed His eyes
and fell asleep

as you began pontificating to the masses
at the start of your dreary sermon
Jesus began snoring

as you said
"Let Jeeeeee-sus intayalife!"
Jesus woke with a start
gathering His whip in His hand
but He promptly fell asleep again
your sing-song voice
lulling us all with its
rising and falling
rising and falling
lying and boring Him to death
with sanctimonious drivel

the dribble ran down
your yellow teeth and chubby cheeks
to your turkey neck below

your fat-filled gut
shook beneath your robes
as you began your repetitious marathon prayers

I glimpsed at your
reptilian hands that strike to shake
as the congregation escapes outside

you hide your slime
by dressing in
platitudes of middle-class niceness

while maggots
are eating your rotting soul inside

Jesus and I left
one visit to your hell-hole was enough

we talked outside
with the sons and daughters of Cain
about truth, life, love
the rainbow above

we sang and danced
we drank red wine
we ran through forests
swam through streams
we laughed aloud
we hugged and kissed

little man
you were never missed



when day is dying, i walk down streets to the beat of a faltering heart / kicking cans down gutters strewn with used products of factory foulness / i carry baggage of long hours worked / the hurts, the smells, the hell of silenced thought / the fight for freedoms fought in vain / my fellow workers
tamed and maimed by management power plays that stifle life and harm wife and kids who cry in the growing dusk and dust of leaden sky / i lift my eyes to horizons filled with the ills of cars and houses crammed and studded with tv antenna spears and fears of the dark age descending / thousands weave
through the mouse maze dazed at the labouring of drowsy traffic noise / plodding home through the red roof patchwork quilt with false guilt and worn out lives / striving against wastage of mind / winding down hope / doped by the lies of the leading blind / dismayed by the slave trade carried out in offices of steel and glass and fast talking sales pitch money making robbers of time / the church steeple sits in the shadows of the towers of babel waiting for armageddon / a smaller war has been and gone



The willows fall,
The water waves circles to sands
As we smile
In earthen shadows on the shore,
Casting our lines upon
The lake of love.

The rippling filling
Of breath on breath of wind
Murmurs within our tree-trunk hearts

And I feel

I've touched you



From box to box to box
Boxed in, walled up, covered over
Confined to restrictive structures
Jailed for life from birth

From box to box to box
I journey every day
In a box I sleep and wake
And travel in a box on wheels
Past boxes on a road
To a box where I work
Making boxes for the boxed

From box to box to box
Back in a box to my box
At the end of a working day
And eat and sleep
In that boxed in box again

From box to box to box
A never ending cycle
A dreaded treadmill pox
Till the last box
Is buried in the ground



This generation has
no compassion in the fashion of a saint
for the hopeless poor and jobless
eating crumbs at Lazarus' gate

There is
no screaming in the street
no protest on their feet
no affection for the loveless
no offence at the stench
no wholeness of soul
no questioning fictitious facts
no learning from the past
no yearning for the Kingdom coming

This generation hungers for the food of fools
and laughter in the wings
from happy idiots watching a ship being built
in the suburbs during the Deep Dark Age
of the Godless Beast

This generation sobs quietly
in a corner of a room
as night darkens day
wallowing in their own dirt
buying time and trading it on the black market

This generation sells souls for a pittance
and has no heart nor guts
just heels that tread on necks
just feet working treadmills that go nowhere
just might and weight of force

This generation rots in the dark
guaranteeing despair for their
children's children's children
till Kingdom come

This generation chants i me mine
blocking out the sun and reddening the moon
crumbling this rock to specks of dust
tunnelling to hide their heads from light

This generation chokes
on garbage fed to the brain
as light filters through a slit in the sky

This generation butchers the poor
hanging them from meat hooks in public view
shoeless, jobless, penniless

Wealth buys health and power
but for all
a future without a future
life without living

This generation
crawls and does not walk
sits and does not stand
exists but does not live
they are dying all their lives
in the brave new world of 1984
a tyrants' heaven and workers' hell

They created an age
where shallow shadows search
for water in a desert
for answers where there are none
travelling across the heavens
but leaving their hearts alone

This generation's kingdom is divided
it falls with Icarus to the ground

A useless thing
a company toy

It emits
not a sound, a ripple or a squeak