Absence of Words

“Hey Girl,
you know it’s kind of funny
taxis always seem so big”
I’d claim those lines
buy they’re not quite mine,
just my story from
the mouth of another
poet, lent in song.
Big taxis, new growth
both starting when you
realise due South
has become True North.
Things are going up.
Less tangled, I’ve
recovered my tripping feet.
Sure footedness, less
ballast, you know who I’ve
left behind; alleged kindred
spirit. I’m my own shooting star
now in this big taxi, setting
my own direction.
Would love to reconnect.
What sky are you shining in?… Read More Absence of Words

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Flung

She wanted to expedite the death of the cockroach. Watching from her kneeling position on the floor she was a hunched mother beneath the burning candles in a cathedral. Enthralled, the writhing of the cockroach was basically a physical tintinnabulation on her skin, a psychosomatic playing out of her own pain. She debunked the notion that responsibility for her children’s state was disseminated amongst their medical practitioners, teachers, friends or even themselves. With panache she flung her head back, her intention to hold the space. The cockroach became the kernel that contained her sense of self, and in slamming her hands down upon it she unleashed a phantasmagorical power that she wished was true beyond the kitchen walls.… Read More Flung

Wearing

“And I wonder is there a dichotomy or relationship between the author in print and the author of the story putting it out there. From Arthur Stace’s Eternity on a t-shirt to Dharma on the butt of your activewear, what meaning are they making in the wearing?…If you take a look there are stories in the wearing as well as in what’s worn. I love that invitation to explore that space. And if we don’t know the real story about what is worn and why, it doesn’t matter. It’s just juice for the imagination. It’s catching the chameleon in the space between. It’s trading the telescope for tweezers…It may be a dead end alley like my KISS t-shirt from the 70s which could well have been about hiding in darkness, or it may be that we see the illuminated, the very act of living and the making of creases in the sacredness of our own bone clothing.”… Read More Wearing

Cricket Lullabies

I came out into the
Smoke infested skies
That mar the Autumn
And lend a dullness to
Cricket lullabies
And haze the
Heart for this place
With its seeds of
Newness that
Temper the long
Journey lived
Over and over in
A squall that
Batters the consciousness.
I reach for
That newness
Claiming it as
A harbinger on
The map of hope
Breaching the weather
Man made
Mad made
Can now float and fade
The turmoil exchanged
For a new belonging
Uttered into
The clarity where
Your breath meets mine.… Read More Cricket Lullabies

The Little Tales

A few photos from a brief stop in Nowra yesterday. I like the story evoked by the fellows who came to fish near the bridge. And the little tales told by the macro photography…tales of immediacy…there is no waiting to see if anything is caught!