"Joshua Smith" by William Dobell After William Dobell's Painting Supposing him to be her superior was a bad start to any interview and, like a school ma’am on picnic day, she gathered herself into her face imagining the square root of herself emanating, dark and precise, from eyes as piercing as the tines of a … Continue reading Meeting with a Lawyer
(i) my kite strings sagged, dragged like caterpillar lumps, the soft grass not offering any lift skies don’t laugh, just watch brightly; pale pinions and the rimming Earth and a quiet fleet of butterflies the ones seen and shimmering (ii) the paddock, wide as literature, finds me in the middle examining a ladybird, crawling on … Continue reading Five Answers
A Villanelle I have no interest in the news in which I can’t find a marbled fact, just people with power spouting views I feel I have to hunt for clues where truth and fiction interact I have no interest in the news I want hope, tea with kindness, light diffuse; not lies like eggshells: … Continue reading No News Nancy
(A Glosa) In the garden of woven shadows, Wessel in coveralls and me, sowing bulbs, knees plugged with mud thicker than my own wadded guilt. Today in my heart, salvation has compost breath as I dig in soil’s decadent scrimmage, head down. Wessel’s remarks barely crest the flourishing alyssum but when I turn to see … Continue reading At the Feet of Roses
Regard the sliver moon: she cloaks herself in royal purple and smiles to the east, and so we must look that way too, for romance and secret notes and the unhurried chivalry of a rising sun. Listen to the colours of wakening, their flesh, their breath... And pen those words: Love and wilt and the … Continue reading Turn to where the moon is smiling…
Sugar Mass & Colour Swirl Perhaps Earth’s a lollipop and we - tricked into sugar-mass and colour-swirl sticky and expendable - forget to think of space, its dark flap of tongue, the wiggling tastebuds of stars consuming time (we created ticking clocks although their message is not ours and control ends at our fingertips like … Continue reading NaPoWriMo #3
An Orange Day the blow-in of tawny gusts frigid tinges - puffs of a polar dragon it’s intemperate hawing sawing at my neck seven spheres in a basket ju jubes of the gods clustered roundness their silvery dimples like jewellery inside-out leaves: falling, flying ticking by like headlines their grasp on frisby days if we’re … Continue reading #NaPoWriMo Day 1
Out of the Cave 