Thursday, September 30, 2010


the bush broods
on the edge of town
woodland dreams of comeback
when the gold is spent

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

outside today

non stop birdsong
which one
is what one
what one
is who?
non stop dog howl
pack animal
cries when left alone
bottle brush blooms red
against the sick green pool
tea bag half sunk
in the milky ocean
i soak and bathe in the sun
heat love bites my neck
warms my sweat made cold feet
cars prowl in the front street
low note growl
menace in the throb
the invisible neighbour
whistles deep in his rusty shed
an ant spell checks my page
cabbage moths
against the smother – me – in – summer blue sky
chart erratic flight paths
outside today

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

the summer sky blues

strikes me eye blue
arch over me blue
smother me blue
stun me blue
always blue
painstaikingly blue
perpetual blue
unrelenting blue
blue blue
blue blue blue
blue blue blue blue
yes mate it's blue
blue again blue
without doubt blue
fuck me blue
don't tell me it's blue
i love a sunburnt country blue
head for the beach blue
run around after balls blue
sunbake until you are red blue
no cloud blue
air con hum blue
beer o'clock blue
swimming pool splash blue
all compass points blue
morning smoko blue
lunch barbie blue
knock off blue
long afternoon with blowflies blue
only crows in the sky at midday blue
snakes out and about blue
when will it end blue
this blue
never ending blue
wake me when it's over blue

Monday, September 27, 2010

today i had the urge two

i had
the urge
to draw squares
and colour them
and black

Friday, September 24, 2010

The Angel Card

I am given the blank angel card.
The begining.
The end.
The circle round.
I am
(say all the signs)
ready to be the one I was born to be.

The blank angel
holds her hands with palms up and open.
(I have everything I need.)
 Her halo is a rising sun.
Wings are aflame.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

today I had the urge

i had
the urge
to draw circles
and colour them
and black

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Country Viewpoint ABC 2007

I have lived in the city for the last six years but sometimes my senses are tripped by the smell of sheep on a livestock transport, or the sound of crows in a blue sky and I recall the fifty years I spent living in rural and outback Australia.

I still have a house in Merredin, the heart of the Wheatbelt, in Western Australia. It is a manifestation of the hope that one day I will return to live in the country.

I was told by a local history buff that the house was transported from the Eastern Goldfields early last century. It sits with dignity between its distinguished neighbours - the town hall, on one side and the court house on the other. A direct path through the roses and past the date palm leads across the wooden veranda to the front door. The door is decorated with panels of textured green glass- the light from which gives the wide passage a cool underwater feeling.

From here, fung shui principles are thrown to the wind, as the house was designed for the arrival of the summer cool change, the Esperance doctor, the air conditioner of a bygone age. The doctor could flow unimpeded from front door to back, cooling all in its path.

This house has a welcoming and generous feel, felt by all who visit. The ceilings are lofty and changing a light bulb is a serious business. No standing on a handy chair. A ladder must be employed. But it is the walls that make visitors gasp. Four of the main rooms are decorated with pressed tin, a fashion from the 1890’s, and each room has its own design and a contrasting roof. I often wonder about the woman who chose these designs. I know it was a woman as the most beautiful and feminine example is in the main bedroom ceiling. Wreathes of daisies are the last thing you see before you fall asleep.

On a recent trip to make repairs and in between tenants I was able to live in my beautiful house for a short while. I recall sitting on the back veranda trellised with grapes, a mug of strong tea cooling beside me, my thoughts absorbed into the silence of a country town at dusk.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

ink missing dream

I dream. I am reading poetry, published by bohemian male poets with beards, in an apartment supplied by their rich parents. The room is full of collected treasure. Skins of hunted animals on the floor. Icons glow gold on walls. Glass cornucopias spill tribal jewellery and cut gems. The font of the book I am reading is coloured, Times Roman, with uneven ink pressure as if it had been printed by a typewriter. Some of the letters are not printed at all but are an indentation. The word ‘this’ could read his and ‘here’ could read her.

this his
here her

Awake. I want a type writer to write poetry without a ribbon. Invisible poems. Invisible words. My invisible poetry. Half written. Ink missing. Meaning hidden.

in the mirror
at the foot of the bed
i am a blur

Monday, September 20, 2010


late afternoon
long shadows
bar code the road

Friday, September 17, 2010

less than five seconds ago

less than five seconds ago
the post woman
arrived bearing gifts
(vain hope)
visit the letter box
under a gloomy sky
find bills – advertising
and one from her majesty’s service
less than five seconds ago

Thursday, September 16, 2010


cloud press grey light
still air cold limp
limp cold air still
light grey press cloud

cloudcloud cloudpress cloudgrey cloudlight
cloudstill cloudair cloudcold cloudlimp
limpcloud coldcloud aircloud stillcloud
lightcloud greycloud presscloud cloudcloud

presscloud presspress pressgrey presslight
pressstill pressair presscold presslimp
limppress coldpress airpress stillpress
lightpress greypress presspress cloudpress

greycloud greypress greygrey greylight
greystill greyair greycold greylimp
limpgrey coldgrey airgrey stillgrey
lightgrey greygrey pressgrey cloudgrey

lightcloud lightpress lightgrey lightlight
lightstill lightair lightcold lightlimp
limplight coldlight airlight stilllight
lightlight greylight presslight cloudlight

stillcloud stillpress stillgrey stilllight
stillstill stillair stillcold stilllimp
limpstill coldstill airstill stillstill
lightstill greystill pressstill cloudstill

aircloud airpress airgrey airlight
airstill airair aircold airlimp
limpair coldair airair stillair
lightair greyair pressair cloudair

coldcloud coldpress coldgrey coldlight
coldstill coldair coldcold coldlimp
limpcold coldcold aircold stillcold
lightcold greycold presscold cloudcold

limpcloud limppress limpgrey limplight
limpstill limpair limpcold limplimp
limplimp coldlimp airlimp stilllimp
lightlimp greylimp presslimp cloudlimp

spentcloud spentpress spentgrey spentlight
spentstill spentair spentcold spentlimp
limpspent coldspent airspent stillspent
lightspent greyspent pressspent cloudspent

cloud press grey light
still air cold limp
limp cold air still
light grey press cloud

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

he told me

he told me
his ache was rib caged and pacing
he never found flame - only ash
his pen was inked with dust
something is wrong
something had gone wrong
something was never wrong before
he told me
ache caged
flame ash
pen dust
never wrong
never wrong
never wrong
he told me

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

not there

have i held you
man upon the stair
man who who
who wasn’t there
have i kissed you
man upon the stair
not there not there
what man where
i saw your stare
upon the stair
man not there
not there not there
i saw i saw
a stair stare
a not stair stare
did i see you
on the stair
not there
i saw your stare
upon the not there stair
i love you
stare man
not there man
upon the not stair
i saw i saw i saw
not here
not there
not not not
not on the stair
not anywhere
i held you
long upon the stair
i kissed you
upon the stair
i loved you
upon the stair
not there
not there
not not there
not not not there
man kiss held love
kiss not
held not
love not
there man
not there man
not there
man stair
held him
kiss man

at all

at all

at all

Wednesday, September 1, 2010


Someone fingered my pearls.

Said they were crazy for pearls.

Pearls are for tears I did not say.

Tears and the moon.