Clover Hitch the clover is in full reach again path’s curve swoons beneath and when rain gallops a million pale dots across the park I see little white flowers fragmented by the storm spring gathers what summer deploys At dVerse this week, Bjorn asks us to create our own aphorisms. I came up with "Spring … Continue reading #dVerse Aphorisms
"Sky above Clouds by Georgia O'Keaffe" imagine if lily pads were white the polka dot of ponds & frogs glare-blind, still blinking that’s what I see on a wandered Sunday when yellow is the primary fruit seven cockatoos splay a bush & like big white magnolia flowers they oblige the afternoon with glowing & above … Continue reading Excuse Me
DARK MATTER will we find the fabric of darkness buried in a mine shaft? this scrim tide that hurricanes through me might leave its finger print on pure crystal like a disrespectful thief, then in dogmatic spin hold its skirt hems tight to its centre and never be seen again. This was written for Twiglet … Continue reading Twiglet #294
Spring comes. And with it a silent drift of gold. I sing the old John Williamson song about Cootamundra Wattles and take too many photos of their great yellow tassels. I find their echoes later around finger prints on the car. Adrift, adrift. We don’t know what we breathe until it lands on the right … Continue reading Cootamundra Wattle
We borrowed our shoes from a dinosaur on the hill each foot crashing with indispensable decisions - mammoth & satisfying. Giant houses & wrathful money seem smart in the clammy fists of men until cash tires & desire becomes jaded, slipping to the floor like damp newspaper. Frogs, fat on sugar & the gratis of … Continue reading Shoes of Dinosaurs
Season of immolation guts & bones ribs seared to white sun-glare, heat-dash pebbles’ broken-tooth chatter underfoot, a rolled ferry carcass, & bridges that span simmering air. Water runs, they say to some finish line taking life with it. From rock to rock we mark the passing - rivers as graveyards - such fundamental deaths. Written … Continue reading Water Runs
Into and out of night that is how the sky leans warped far beyond the genius curve of Earth. See how it tickles the very darkness we are craving like mouse feet rummaging in star dust. Written for Twiglet #293. "the sky leans"
in death we are useful woven in to Earth’s loom we are something then connecting fertile dots and darkness as dreams roll and the living incubate the sky Written for Sarah's Tuesday Poetics dVerse prompt "the four elements"
by day molecules riff, sun-flit is held in air pressing shadows flat: inconstant contrast and then you come egalitarian night, your sky is taut a moonless traverse yet still, my cheeks feel the rushing written for dVerse poetics. "4 elements"
a crackle of cockatoos & deafening smoke feathers take on the gore flint sharp, the white-hooked scream Written for Sarah's dVerse poetics. "the 4 elements"
tectonic love, I know you’re too old to start again you swaddle me in your gauzy scarf those rapscallion clouds spelling sunsets or possibly the daydreams of fire ants nest unravelled one cicada alone is beautiful beaten rainbow wings - (note the azalea swirls like shokunin steel) but we are a carnival roaring against your … Continue reading I Heart Earth
Mt Ainslie Saturday Morning Mouldy mountain, clear sky above A cloud’s embrace, the wettest love Duck the hug and miss the scene droplet’s wink and boastful green Timid trunks swim through grey but treetops brush the damp away Mouldy mountain, clear sky above A cloud’s embrace, the wettest love Written for Grace's dVerse Poetics prompt … Continue reading #dVerse Octelle
Tourist Without a Dictionary Beneath every mountain is a map flung but unsung by ravensong or the witchcraft of breeze-saying. When we walk, breath coarse as ice flow from this snow-crusted air, I stop on thigh-sore’s pitch and turn to the view. There it is, the sprawl of our city, roof-tumble and tree toss and … Continue reading Twiglet #290
The girl with polka dotted wellies is shin deep in garden cavorting in a pine bark sea because under the tip, flip, drizzling it’s a four inch day. My plastic tablecloth billows and the carpark's running downhill - gravel rush and mud skin... and there’s the bob-gloss of umbrellas and a three foot leap with … Continue reading Four Inch Day
Feeling stupid after an email conversation, I go out to exercise the dog. The oval lies over-sheened with western sun. Light billows like a sheet, particulate and all-pervasive until I shade my eyes. The dog scoots, mostly ignoring the ball which I throw for my own exercise, walking on and to pick it up and … Continue reading Warp & Weft
You caught me stealing at dusk limes from our neighbour’s tree; they were yellow and cold. but you with your lilac smile you dangled, fishing-line easy pilfering light from a company of unrisen stars. I ducked inside cheeks pink as the froth of clouds but you smarmied on, shameless as Fagan It's little consolation knowing … Continue reading Slaves of Citrus
Shoal Cloud periwinkle stars quilted and filtered squamous morsels light the tickled sand shadows twine and splice scales' pleated sheen a thousand bright flecks forming the dark fish shoal cloud rides the tide’s skin blowy as bird feathers carapaced in silver then surface whips white tipped fin & flip unfolding the eloquence of sharks written … Continue reading #dVerse Poetics – Fractals
indigo brooms gather sea and sky into giant opals, their sprawl and gleam between hoop pines' earnest green even in the lens, light ticks here like halyard snap this beach of white, a glittering bosom spinnaker unfurled I'm whip blind crouching in the rip of sand stars hitchhiking - the spitting wind whittles to one … Continue reading Photography on Whitehaven Beach
we’ll sink the mountains from above close in on this dark jungle - white sea foam and blow-fingered palms that gesture in the topping breeze disparaging the sky all night on and on the staccato drum gentle as penury, these bloodless coins tropical and fat dousing the grass flying night, we’re starless, and full of … Continue reading Song of a Whitsunday Raindrop
Winter Festival I feel safe hereamong footprint clouds where the lanterns spirala wind trodden sky walking flames andall that is blown in smoke's waveris not undone the shadows of childrenour little heads shape my lifecurving as the moon dark on darkvestigial beauty Inspired by Misky
Holding the Sky this windward evening rests green and purple... the suppuration of cloud hearts permeates permeates grey tree skeletons and the clack clack of their shadows scything through the grass. winter dusk is perfect as a pantomime face - summer’s stolen apricots thick on her eyelids I turn to cross the road and see … Continue reading #MTB dVerse “Moralising”
I am here for another birth metastasizing darkness the way afternoon sun treats the day to riches I suppose death lies for us all somewhere between our pillow and a dream in the moment when breath escapes the inevitable frangipani storm // the sawing sea I must go in for the fog is rising pressing … Continue reading the final flood
Working Title: Mind Doodles (i) pulsing white heart above the pine prehistory snares the raucous breeze cockies landing (ii) and she wonders (nose to the sky) if perhaps it’s the blue that scuds, carrying satellites above stationary puffs Earth a ball bearing in the spin of a wheel (iii) in the east a graphite smudge … Continue reading June 13
Artwork by Bronwyn Tracey pearl sky day in arched flight curve of a galah’s wing beneath trees so slow to undress, puddles of gold reflect scraps of lingerie grey silk robe long naked fingers pry surfaces ripple
it’s at this time when autumn's flame gets blown out snuffed to a wax and under the highway bridge the glide and glaze of pigeons shadow snuffing and car roar cooing fumes like death’s seepage an urban home’s grey and splatter, here the pigeons live indefinite // anonymous frail & glooming they're the gerunds of … Continue reading the role of pigeons
pumpernickel sky, low cut & dense grinding its heels in the carpark lights are on browsed by white teeth; the sleety rain splintering your hood, umbrella tick & charcoal puddles find traces of dry humour breathe hah hah! your hands are bloodless and burning Written for dVerse quadrille with Linda Lee Lyberg "browse"
I rake leaves and contemplate the selling of beauty as a capitalist ideal: boxed and essenced, smelling sweet. Meanwhile, the western sky rips apricot horizons from blue. Another day ends in brutal waxing. No, hun. That's just a sunset. I read Misky's lovely Sevenling and thought... that's a form I could try! I hope you … Continue reading Sevenling (I rake leaves..)
yes, you hang untainted by the rusting of trees or their bare-fingered poking all these days of rain fall, falling, fall full moon round as possibility a vast, bright musical note in your stave of power lines washed clean in the black glass sky star choirs mute and brittle the thickness of a cloud its … Continue reading full fall moon
Black Mountain Tower raises its hand, claiming clear air from low cloud smudge left by yesterday's rain. but the sun is distracted long flamboyant arm chooses a flock of birds, their timeless endeavour - sky-tiny and intrinsic - refugees from light to light. perhaps this is how the world will end - a triumphant sparkle … Continue reading Beauty
Captain Morning have you always been? Holding the tiller, prow skewed in among cloud layers Imagine one enormous star baked into sky’s dark bread infinity’s rising yeast and can you hear the breaking? Brittle crack // a toffee eye sheets down, permanent raining Captain Morning skipper of waking your yellow fuzz warms my neck, bids … Continue reading Captain Morning
Out of the Cave 