Thursday, 25 September 2014

Highly Strung

My skin stretched out
and pinned
like vellum in the sun,
the weight of bone
 and tissue trapped inside.

My body tense,
joints and muscles ache,
food sticks within my throat.
Excess of energy released
in spurts
and twitching limbs.

There is another page
to draughting manic scenes,
black ink is spilt
and floods my colourways.
I lose a year
scrubbing at the stain
until my skin is raw.

Monday, 15 September 2014

Light and Dark.

Within the depth of needle shade
on casuarina cushioned floor,
she watches as her dog runs wild
a length of park and back again,
the joy he feels to race the wind
while she waits out of sight.

She hugs a letter to her chest
then stares through tears,
as words condemn her lack of heart.
She writes, protests,
cups a hole beneath the trees,
shreads paper into bite sized squares
and covers them with earth.

Posts to the worms the words
a daughter feels
when mothers can't be won.
The dog explodes into her arms,
his success at hide and seek
pulls her towards the sun.




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

 
  
                                            
 

 

Elsewhere
 
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.

Tuesday, 20 May 2014

Unremarkable

I pass them on the street
any time of day.
She's dumpy
like her dog.
Both have a look
that's indistinct.
They shamble
round the block,
in camouflage of fawn
and  grey.
I never give her more
than driving past.
Today I learn
she ran a major corp,
with all the stress
of sitting at the top.
She now enjoys
not being tied to desks,
is free to walk her dog
all day,
to be someone
unseen.


Thursday, 24 April 2014

Anarchy

 
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.