Friday, 20 March 2015

Fair Game

Two women
believed it safe to walk alone.
A mother on her way from work,
the school girl in her local park.

In a camp for refugees
or the home for kids in need,
used for sex and abused
because they have no choice.

Children learn,
become the hunters or the prey
or sit apart and close your eyes,
do not speak of what you know.

Monday, 16 March 2015

The Sun Gods

Apollo, Mithras, Helios and Ra,
deep in my cells I worship them
as eyes and skin respond to warmth.

I chart their course across the skies,
shield myself from unknown dark
wrapped in filaments of light.

From tunnel to the temple's heart
each time a candle flame is set
an altar to the gods ignite.

Saturday, 14 March 2015

At The Ball

You look up to us
from the lens of 1922.
More than a room of faces
are the clothes you wear,
from all the lands
you once called home.

Their borders now redrawn
as empires are erased.
Your national pride
expressed in needle threads,
sustain a love of place
that another claims.

Thursday, 12 March 2015

  My book, published by Ginninderra Press, is available
  on line as an Ebook or hardcopy.

Sunday, 1 March 2015

Storm Dogs

on the radio predicts the change
beneath what ears and eyes can note,
distorts the hourly list of accidents,
a politician's latest gaff and sport.

Wind beats
the tallest trees from hot flush still,
my laundry tub ennui, the sky turns sour,
I run to harvest washing from the line
before another lightning shaft brings rain.

The dogs
begin to shake at growling overhead
as if a pack of hounds had their scent and
no escape was close, my arms and lap
chosen second best, but who will I cling to.

Tuesday, 24 February 2015

Night Music

As I read myself to sleep
lost in another's world,
a rhythmic song is rising
from my beloved's chest.

His cadensed snoring blurs
the music of my page.

I fear the day will come
when I no longer hear
the deep breath serenade
that billows on his dreams.

Sunday, 22 February 2015


I float
on a pool of memories,
bouyed by love I held or spent,
recall the warmth of strangers
through each landscape, town
and road I walked, of art explored
and all its paths I dreamed to take.

Beneath me lies
the hidden depth of time
supressed and filtered out,
where spectres of regret and pain
would churn soft waters into mud.
My hermitage and its constraint
the cost required to stay afloat.