Category: Poems

Six Days to the Gallows

Six Days to the Gallows On the first day I was walking and you marvelled at my feet. Every step I took was a miracle, tiny but complete. I raced around the bedroom and the air was filled with noise, Twenty-eight pounds of sunshine wrapped up in a smiling boy. On the second day I was talking and the words…

The Institution, or Sometimes You Don’t Know You’re Being Held

The Institution, or Sometimes You Don’t Know You’re Being Held It is a symbiosis, this thing. This mad, lifelong, love affair that has raged across the shores of time; that has as often been tempest as drought. That has somehow kept out elements of undoing, of easy leaving. A force that has not been quelled, but has given and shared…

Closer

Closer When will it be that she sees the shock of the old? When will she stop in her tracks, stop her breath, and take charge of my feelings, so that I’m not hurt by more than the passing of time? No time soon.   She marauds over me like terrain to be conquered. My arms are limbs to swing…

A Death in Melbourne, Southeast

A Death in Melbourne, Southeast Overwhelmed, Not all at once, But gradually. Its slow demise Borne witness By two thousand eyes. Once aloft With gleaming prow Breasting life’s currents. Oh! The fulgor Of union’s promise! Now slumped And despondent While being eaten From within. Stolen upon With practiced Indifference, Listing ever closer To bed. Pathetic, Wounded, And unloved – Where…

Protection

Protection It’s a fucking racket. This life. This extraction of self. This whip. This lash. This excoriation. This garotte. Putting yourself on the rack. What truth to extract? Relentless interrogation. Examination. Subjection. Subtraction. Negation. Enervation. A skin full of knuckles and rocks, and breaking, crushing things. Shredding. Biting. Spitting. Snarling. Screaming. Roaring. That part of you that tunnels through yourself.…

Wisdom On Buses

Wisdom on Buses A madman broke it down for me. “You’re a late bloomer,” he said, “The best is yet to come. You were a troubled child, A rebel. You liked fine wines And women’s thighs. You set yourself apart, Or were set apart, I don’t know which, And it made you solitary but also Fragile and melancholy. You don’t…

Oxygen

Oxygen Two shots From our wedding day One before And one after The contract Was signed The first In black and white Shows me A rabbit Caught In life’s headlights Stunned and scared But I have no memory Of it The second In colour Shows us Kissing And I am Blowing your head off With my intent Or perhaps My…

What My Mother Gave Me

At what point do adult children stop seeing their mother and start seeing the woman behind the role? Do they ever? I don’t think we can ever fully detach ourselves from seeing our parents as parents first and people second. But when we do peer behind the screen it can be so illuminating in recognising where we’ve come from and…