Two Years After the Fires

(i) on the ridges trees in death black arms still flexed for holding up the sky but it falls strung between them whitely broken such soft caressing of their limbs now rain comes the marching of time slick silver arrows (ii) we walk in a valley torn flat trees prostrated by flood the tinny upper … Continue reading Two Years After the Fires

The Stepmother’s* Wardrobe

after a spring when fashion turned to yellow in ever-dying shades and Earth’s red bones broke through a tearless anorexic world the queen with flair mis-spelled, chose a wardrobe of vibrant, silky scraps ballooning spinnakers of ripping orange and jibs in singing blue out-prisming autumn but smoking to black (a cinematic feat) that was what … Continue reading The Stepmother’s* Wardrobe

The Place We Live

The sun sits in leaky splendour; watermelon juice staining this upholstery this smog brown décor this Faberge sunset this velveteen smoke haze. A cloying choice but here we all sit in our plush living room our shrine of consecrated ignorance and listen to the clock and the crackle roar of our future. Written for Misky's … Continue reading The Place We Live

They Have Hearts Too

pour happy thoughts into your breakfast bowl that summer mayn't dry out hope leaving it on footpaths adrift amongst the stepping stone madness of commuter feet try looking for a moment through the spectrum of flowers petal art by vein they have hearts too open to the sun begging for bees and if they wilt … Continue reading They Have Hearts Too

Things that Pass

It was said that all things must pass: the big wheels turning, turning over the drought-lands, the down-and-out lands cattle skeletons ploughed in like rotted ships fence-posts - frayed and far-fetched zippers - dragging lines of wind-sawn wire – dun and drear the fierce fires rolling, roiling wanton flames - the lunge and buck, the … Continue reading Things that Pass

The House at No. 3

Out of the Cave

                Seventeen years ago
     a roar engulfed
the singing pines -
       countless breaths exhaling
         the needle sting of smoke.
They stood in shredded funeral garb
    flinging glowing ember flowers
onto us below.
    They witnessed our
         syncopated falling
  and the operatic scream
    of twisting steel,
         the cymbal crash
  of exploding windows.
                We knelt prostrate
         before the fire
bowed and broken:
    an army in black surrender.

Up on the hill, now
   between the sleek sheets
 of glistening modernity
          and long embedded gardens,
    I am still here.
The run-away grass
       (that feathered doom)
           tickles my concrete pad.
     The triad tongues 
of fire, water & tanin
      have left printed shadows
   and the jagged prod
     of steel beams into nothing 
            is my toothy skyline.
                
The house that was.


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An Instant Library

Recently, my parents acquired a book put together by their community about the fires and then the floods which swept through the area last summer. People contributed photos and stories of their experiences. The book shows humans doing their best in a world turned totally crazy. On their faces are fear, sadness, determination, and hope. … Continue reading An Instant Library

I don’t think I’m alone in feeling this way…

Fandango’s Flashback Friday (only I’m late because we were away for the weekend) suggests posting a blog from this date on a previous year. I don’t have Friday’s exact date but this is only one day out. I hope you enjoy…

Out of the Cave

I
hate this wind and the brown sky and the pluming brown dust and the
brown, brown oval… except where the sprinkler has leaked and there
is a patch of rich green – a puddle reflecting what used to be.

The
scraping leaves exfoliate my heart like an acid. On days like to
today (today, when it was supposed to rain) I find it so hard to
believe that everything will be okay.

As
I walked this morning, a few spats of rain found their way to the
ground, like salt on a meal. When I got home I looked at the radar.
Down south, there is rain. So that is something.

Yesterday
at the fruit shop, the cashier lady, just returned from 6 weeks “at
home” in Bhutan commented that “compared to home, Australia is a
desert”. She landed, on Friday, in Sydney, thinking it an overcast
day, expecting…

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The House at No. 3

Seventeen years ago a roar engulfed the singing pines - countless breaths exhaling the needle sting of smoke. They stood in shredded funeral garb flinging glowing ember flowers onto us below. They witnessed our syncopated falling and the operatic scream of twisting steel, the cymbal crash of exploding windows. We knelt prostrate before the fire … Continue reading The House at No. 3

Australia’s Summer

I cannot forget your steely-white glare; the too-hot press of you against my skin. My body contracted until cracks appeared. Plants wilted, waterholes sucked in and my body fissured abandoned to exuberant wind and the angry roar of carbon-crazed dragons. The smoke rolled over us all like hell's too-slow envoy. Before it, a syndicate of … Continue reading Australia’s Summer