Hot night into morning we are steamed openmosquitoes have their team songthunder on the placardsearly beach traffic past holidaydawdle bleary waiting homeperhaps a little rain splatterweakly tapping timewhy do doves callNew South WalesNew South Walesthe baby kookaburra barkstrying for its voiceno breeze off the fluttera street light not there beforethrows solar eminenceboil an egg buttery … Continue reading Hot night into morning

Sixty Eights I have this garden about my headwhere upturned things breathe againbirds fly in and outdropping twigs dropping droppingsthere’s a guitar with an elk fern proppedstrings hang loose rusty for promisethe possum I buried has sprung to figa moreton bay the next owners can worrythe blue tongues are endlessly at itnot minding my step … Continue reading Sixty Eights

Uncaged animals                        They speakbut then they don’tthese handlers of truth their baton tongues rattlealong loose evaporating bars we see through a declinewithout any nurturethe promise withering within still I’ll hold your handstep out Fred and Gingerfall and rise hand on cuff less wristover this diapason rescue but then again the side show ennuicalls us backone … Continue reading Uncaged animals

Old Falls Road(After R.C.) Old Falls Road, the signs have been removed. To keep the tourists confused. The secrete Where dinosaur age mushrooms Prevail against the odds. My lips ease off timeless elastic lines, Blue Danish goes soft in jazz. Wine becomes warm, we sit afterwards, Backs against the leaking rock face, No ancient roar … Continue reading Old Falls Road

Uriel Touches Down After Burning Eden Sulphur ignited in the colour of wingswe fell from your biddingto our own choice in flight, no longer by an almighty privilege constrainedall the way to earth tumbling in lossalight for your honour an augury of archangels, to score their treachery in smouldering lettersindelible in the broadcast of feathersthe … Continue reading Uriel Touches Down After Burning Eden

Blackberry Sonnet/ The hay cutter speaks of his love Lady, I came for your love – not to haggle.I am no wisened mariner of orbs familiar knowledge,But a castaway escaping the casket’s clamour -Our years wait in your mantled hourglass beyond that door,My journey is measured in the distance to the bed head. Strand me … Continue reading

After the paddock was cut, white slopes more enticing than snow were irresistible. Rolling laughter found the space of words, even the dog smiled as she chased us down, so proud to be on her feet above the mantle of our churning. These were the days before climate change, rain followed hay making, farmers cursed … Continue reading Make Hay While You Can