Tuesday, 12 August 2014

The Geologist

A sideways glance
towards my love,
his eyes intent upon the road,
the flow of bitumen
unrolls our country's depth.

His stories plot a map
of how the land was formed.
He pans a river in his mind
to list the minerals
broken from the ground.

Slab hut and mullock heap,
the lives of quarrymen,
prospectors after gold
are mined beneath his words
before the earth reclaims.

Tuesday, 29 July 2014



Pink skies raise fear
another day of war,
they're holding on until cease fire.
Walls of hate built with the falling bombs
and children lost.
Our luck
so far away,
sunrise and we have choice,
to witness shattered lives on TV screens
or turn away.



Tuesday, 15 July 2014

Black Swan

It arabesques towards the pier,
a red beaked flag upon green swell,
webbed feet against high winds.
Head dips between each wave,
alone and close to shore
as night rolls down the sky.

No billabong or reed edged lake,
a duct tape label binds its neck.
Avoids the cars, sharp dogs and bikes,
comes to my feet when I draw near.
An urban dwelling, salt-water, dancer,
within a frame of flat and tower.

Thursday, 24 April 2014


Words are bombs I toss.
If they offend 
your sense of nice,
you should leave me now.

I know the conflict
in a twisted mind,
the layered truths
we hold beneath our skin.

Remember one who 
came into my house,
claimed to be the doctor, 
Mum at work had sent.

I was a child of ten.
He said that feeling pain
meant something wrong inside,
I did not complain.

He went home and read
a bedtime story to his kids,
then tucked them in,
so they’d be safe from harm.



Each class had one,
their race or something else
set them apart.

Jenny Wong,
her dad made cakes,
they lived above the shop.

had no arms,
did everything with toes.

Ricky spent
the holidays away,
her parents were divorced.

I had a strange wog name
and so did not belong.
At lunch we sat alone,
endured their playground snub,
the bullies caught us
as we hurried home.

We stood in queue
and knew our place,
tried hard to please or blend.

Children who called me a wog
grew up to frame the policy
which set the rules for refugees
and turns their boats away.


Above the pulsing waves
an island outcrop soars,
its craggy, knotted rocks
engulfed by nesting birds,
each burrow marked in cries.

A mother has returned
disgorging all she holds.
Her downy, trembling chick
in constant, squawking need,
each day she leaves exposed
to gulls and beating storms.
She seeks the choicest food,
among the gleaming shoals,
her chick is ripe to fledge  
but then it slowly fades.
Just feathers glued to bone,
the stomach contents stew, 
disclose their last remains;
the knot of plastic shapes
a mother thought were fish.  



Bands of light are arrows to the ground 
on shafts bright green or dark viridian. 

The smell of earth, wood rot and fungi 
spores, crushed ants beneath my feet.  

This wilderness ensnares the primal 
sensing brain, invokes an ancient DNA.
I'm charged by dancing particles of mist,
each step rewires the animist within. 

Trees net spirits hunting in the clouds, 
birds transpose our memories into song.
They cry alarm, Neanderthals live on,
we are not the primates to be feared.