Wednesday, October 30, 2013

september the second two thousand and thirteen

three hundred thousand pound a week for a soccer player
twenty four million dollars a year for a banker
seven dollars twenty five cents for a McDonald’s worker per hour

Thursday, September 26, 2013

hard rubbish

she put it on the verge
mouth set in one straight line 
this was the last of him  
fold up bed where he slept
after whatever it was had 
blown out
blown up
blown away
the hump backed tele
like them — no longer worked
love nest mattress
just looked stained
his clothes
his boots
his shaving cream
book of Australian love poems
back broken
beer fridge with footy stickers
half finished novel
palm fronds she waved
before she saw
he wasn’t going to save her
she wasn’t going to save him

hard rubbish

Monday, September 23, 2013


first light, coffee brews
campers air sleeping bags
over no camping signs

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

fire ticks

fire ticks
rain ticks
as the clock

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Friday, May 24, 2013

in time

wind sun water
press into bedrock        
with flora fish fauna

in time
all turns to stone 

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

the stratigrapher

married to patterns in strata
she knew land language
translated granite to geometry
with rose scented hands
imposed the grid
anchored in bedrock
in her home floats in the sky
where the sunshine
where the sunshine is
just a little closer to thee
and thee and thee
anchored to bedrock legends
spelled in geology’s design
we turned through
after dark
the milkyway
printed stories on black
we saw a red moon’s last flicker
as it fell flaming to the sea
gloom extinguished white stars
hours layered dark
before light was summoned by crow call then magpies woke and redtails cheered  

Sunday, April 14, 2013

after party

Went to the North Perth house, took cakes chosen with care, raspberry, lime, vanilla, apple, cream, custard, pastry, crumble, real fruit. Drove. Drove. Drove. Avoided other’s duco, indicated with law abiding courtesy, yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir, Paddington Street speed humps grunted twenty twenty twenty at my shockies, padded down the sand path, wrapped cakes crinkled, bike shop shut, bus stop empty, burnt out ute, sign posts to the right house, party house, barbeque in the afternoon house, the abandoned party began at the verge, stumbled past the wiper-snipper cowed cactus, smashed up the steps, stubbed out on the garden path, broke on the veranda, spewed through the hall, the kitchen and staggered on out into the art installation backyard, where still it seemed, men danced, women danced, smoke curled, snags sizzled, onions sparked taste buds, dark liquid swirled into jars, in corners, on grass, heads, shoulders, bodies mounded together, thump, twang, bass mutter, bouncing ball words — shades, shadows, traces — all still, still there but now morning sunlight harder than a concrete head slam, exposed rot¸decay with glint and sparkle.

we cut the cakes
cream custard
road kill guts
squeezed out
we fell on it like wild hungry puppies

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

babies — two

time to sit still — a shuffle — a paper dropped — a thoughtless sigh — will send them into the air — babies — two — feral doves — just left home — finding it almost too hard — taking the sun — I hope they have learned about cats — they are a food favoured by cats — do they know this? — these babes from out of the woods — I want to give them seed but maybe it is better they learn their own birdy ways.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

morning of my birthday

          first awake
          first awake
          first awake

on the morning of my birthday
earphones whisper news
backdrop low grey cloud
only sounds
crow galah car
crumpled snore 
the need to clean teeth

on the morning of my birthday
i was screaming
         screaming in my sleep

Sunday, March 10, 2013


my cousin graveside began to slip… my mother and I caught  her… one on each arm… held her upright on the carpeted ground… she threw red roses into her mother’s grave… my mother and I threw rosemary and lavender stolen from strangers’ gardens… tied with ribbons cut from our clothing… a baby laughed — waved a fat white fist at the rolling sky… the grandsons lowered my aunt into her white sand grave… my uncle’s ashes went with her…  unmentioned … it was Mum’s day her second child said … afterwards as we had homemade cakes and sausage rolls prepared by the Anglican Ladies… they stood at the servery window and smiled as we ate…

at the wet dry interface
wind builds sand grains into dunes
waves lick the beach into hard dark wrinkles

Tuesday, March 5, 2013


a few olive leaves
cast shadows
over the garage door
chinese characters
they might read
or entering autumn