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
we wake to fog’s whisper air band agape and pale oval submerged in this quiet rising or just pale dawn, over- hung, a night of heavy drinking, the grass engorged, the sky vacant or first frost – tiny ice swarms in the night, glitters and winks, a million rainbows blanched to white Written for dVerse … Continue reading a few autumn mornings
In The Carpark in the carpark long puddles my wheels splinter a church steeple and wobble autumnal trees later, feeling daring I plant my boot in the wide grey sky and watch it rattle like wind juice Written for Twiglet #277 "wind rattles"
The chicken preens. Filaments of skin, feather tip casings: fallen yellow like static on my sleeve. How readily it knows the art of being itself - a million tiny recollections of an unmet mother. But in the yard magpies ogle. I have my uses. written for dVerse Quadrille #151 (44 word poem including the word, … Continue reading Mothering a Chick
(a shadorma) Fist of cloud breaks through severe blue like mushrooms’ slow jeté... or is it just graffiti - sky paint from a can?
Friday night; silence falls charcoal belly pushes forward the mountains, dark as irony the western sky. and then rain clinking from a guttering sky. falling bells, voices of runnelling and, temperature unwieldy (floods in the body, floods from the sky),. middle age waits for a breeze... how to measure the age of a breeze? Air … Continue reading age of a breeze
(The name "Molonglo" is derived from an Aboriginal expression meaning "sound of thunder") plum-skin lake placid marker of our city: an old river dammed, her soul confined to bed into her blank gaze, the sky is folded daily like sheets // keeper of lilac shadows and the bony dents of mountains her torrents are sent … Continue reading Molonglo
In the style of Kay Ryan In the backyard strands of trash plastic, twine or haberdash scratched up from decades now past by chooks. They don’t aim to be iconoclasts; they just scratch and their beady eyes seek bugs or roots or wormy writhe. And as they dig the little chicks check the minutiae of … Continue reading Watching Chooks
Out of the Cave 