Me & My Lid On some days in my Lockdown exercise hour the sun has poured its soothing ink quietly like warm milk between still trees and the roads have lain empty as snakeskin between closed houses. And even the birds seemed awed by the largeness of silence. But other days, the madding wind flips … Continue reading Lockdown Moods
after rain (with scattered meteors dark as cracking tar) our drive contains the Milky Way ruptured pearl and snickered light draw my eye is this our galaxy? a jeweled pot hole in the bitumen of space.
Earth wipes a tear from the soft white cheek of a cumulus cloud - careful now and into her vial - these appropriated raindrops to be saved for the protesters their fruitless garden of raised fists. May they grow (she says) plentiful as dandelions - until their explosion into wind-blown stars grits the eyes of … Continue reading Wish on the tears of clouds…
in this moment between me and Lorraine’s pink camellia Spring is perfect its face made up debutante fine coming out for the bee season hear the buzz in wattle’s chandeliers I buzz too on steroid’s limb dandled like a madman’s puppet me in autumn’s crazed falling: lost foliage and wanting sleep the camellia and I … Continue reading Remembering Lorraine
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 sky shiny blue Thai silk - you would rip a portion and hang it like a Mantra curtains leading into the day. Step into the sun the subtle hum of traffic melding with the bees petrol fumes forgotten. Floral scents unfurl rosemary from your herb garden the kalistamon next door a giant Cootamundra wattle … Continue reading How it might’ve been…
I found a notebook from which trumpet song tanned my skin and let me breathe deep the golden sense of persimmons their voices (those poets) never wrinkle, even as pages yellow and my knuckles collect scars. echoes preserved in paper cathedrals splicing the all and nothing of experience poetry our human whale-song *Copyright abigfatcanofworms
water grips the track - glossy contorted discs of weather-based paint beyond today’s Grecian-blue covenant the sun remembers how it is to hold the hose, sprays light just so the dog, stepping stars into the puddle, elucidates galaxies around sleek ankles and in gum leaves’ vertical grating a magpie utters vowels - the fluent stream … Continue reading Tuesday
crude wooden tripods stand tethered human pendulums swinging amongst fumes and fuming damming politicians and incandescent commuters damming the city’s arteries a timely attack the heart on the hill* bloodless while the body rages taut fists enacting death throes of a planet in need *Australia's Parliament House is commonly referred to as "the house on … Continue reading Extinction Rebellion
it was committed to the earth. I think: to search for worms; that the dead are thermometers of our Earth this friable literature this soft and pleasingly dark loam poem buried there giving birth in time to a soliloquy of flowers to say and sway as nature does comfortably green
