Friday, September 26, 2008


Small little parings and scraping of poetic fragments
or if you like some kind of haiku.

Lucky for me I am asymmetrical
She exclaimed after the surgeon
Removed the bullet her right lung

The evolution of the sexual act
From the one celled creature
That moved away from itself
Two hearts come together

They seek a new Eden
A garden green and growing
Sealed away beyond the planet
They seek to live a dream
Walled in, glassed in
Now is the time to throw stones

As insubstantial as a monsoon
And as obsessive as a child
It rains

In our way of life
Even the lame, the obese
The disfigured have their place
If only as the butt of jokes

The hot summer nights
Drove the man
Who could hear the bats

The symbiotic creature
Painstakingly eats solid rock
Slowly spreading unfolding
All mud and culture

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Poor Cat Lean

God ole Fred me lad - git in the truck

Piping hot c'mon whistle g'won
Anzaced hands stroke brindled fell
Give the doggie a treat

Gotta go down the markets;

Luck to Tank Sir Frederick
She woulda called 'im

Dont know why i boffer
Taint no one a-buying

Sometimes Fred reminds me
Makes me fink of his mum

Damndest best ratter we ever had
Cant tell yet ifin Fred
Will reach her heights

Kept the storage shed
All clear of rats - 'member?

Makes me fink on you

God damn it all to buggery 'ell!

It's all up the shitter...

No weder on d'rizin...

Cant see how...
The land...

And now this...
All this...

Humph! If not for you Freddie
Ida got nussin'

Damn dawg aint enuf!

We'll stop by this arvo
Spen'sum toime eh?!?

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Genesis 11:6

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

two poems submitted and rejected

NOTE: These two poems were written on a cold Canberra winter day when the mecury was not into double figures. One in the morning, while talking the dog for a walk, and then in the evening, after work on the walk home from the bus stop.


ind ear
lee mumffled

missd rise sings
off the creekly

co mingo
d air
wit frost n

All confusio

andeye aloof

tink of mema bing dead
n all

And the wind full of outer space...

1 big star
1 small star

ova tree trees

n d night
is snuglyng
setlyng nwit

each home coale scing
foot fawl the skj
dankns cloud hiss

clear jetclaire

but 4 1
long livd


jet aeroplain



Wednesday, September 3, 2008

The White Man

Red the dirt under her feet
Yellow the sun above his head
Black the skin our one true family

How like a plague of demons
They must have seemed - pale dead skin
Darkening under southern sky
How like the sound of the fall
Must have seemed the canon shot
The musket crack
The return of the lightning men
Riding thunderclouds over the waves
Flashing lightning strikes the law
The gallows

All at once - genocide - extinction
Rolling out concussive waves
Silent unknown diseases racing
Plagues of rats cats dogs mice
Plagues of weeds in passing
Fences of ownership strangling

These strange pale ghost shapes
Pass out drink - their speech
In all directions and how many
Passed not once sighting
How much laid to waste

Those who lead yet fail to govern
Say we have no need to apologise
- We never did anything - it was not us...
But they seem to forget how we benefit
And prosper from all that death
And primitive accumulation.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Street Corner

I stand on the street corner. I delay crossing.
Watching cars empty pass, accounting damage.
After work, afternoon, evening is falling.
I stand and stare the intensified sun.
Pale blue flows and solid - arid - an impression
Of no deviation. Hand drawn at once random,
Vain and pale brush strokes of pink and of orange.
Now Hark! A lining of gold. Heavenly streets.