A poem about "Australia Day".
Read more10 Years On
A poem commemorating ten years since my father passed away.
Read moreFinding Home
Boundless Plains
Drowned. All sparks extinguished.
Swallowed by brutal oceans.
Corpses by the shoreline.
A few of many.
Read moreVolition
Merchants of Doubt
Of Rockets and Stardust
Seeds
Forget
Late night collisions with apparitions,
like fevered winters precipitate,
the sweat and the heartache,
Everything I've wanted to forget.
My father's struggle in dreams I render,
A faceless man broken asunder,
in the depths of his bleak ocean,
Our arms stretched at the periphery,
devotion unheard our eyes dimmed.
The bonds we form seem destined to
bring us hope then tear it down,
For I let them in and let them win
those weary games we played,
Everyone I've wanted to forget.
First love a twin shadow silhouette,
A moon blessed escape from solitude,
After daybreak reveals the precipice,
I don't want to believe or be in love.
After yearsI've come to see,
My timid surrender to memory,
Painting with that palette so bleak,
a vision of life so full of strife.
For to forget,
is to feign indifference
to the lessons of experience,
To submit oblivious of irony,
to a life of mere remembrance.
To let go
is to see what was
as the whispering winds that
brought me to this shore.
When Men Cry
I remember being described when younger, As being "intense" in euphemistic vernacular.
Read moreThe Road
As we drove through that ochre dust
Reverberations of an old life
Howled through the marrow
of my bones.
Those bare footed escapades
through the unforgiving savannah,
Tethered only to a yearning
to follow each honest impulse,
From heart to limb.
We lost no sleep
to the howls of beasts,
We were the eyes of the night
and knew that the roads were
trails of where we'd been,
Not paths for where we'd go.
Two Worlds
Halcyon
An ancient drum beat heart,
tuned to mother's rhythm,
Our sound travels through
this sea's caress in waves,
Soft against new skin.
Ripples of wonder in dark sanctuary,
Of my lot in the world outside,
Between love and indifference,
till flesh and time collide.
A return to forgetfulness,
a new seed of the universe,
Yearning to be expressed,
felt, heard and caressed.
Mother... Father.... Oh the dreams I've searched for your hands.
Through the Lighthouse
Like the songs of shells in the ocean,
The past feels like an inconceivable dream,
Breathing beneath this lighthouse
as its eyes permeate the night.
Lost in the shadow of a family tree,
I was but a struggling amnesiac.
Till I felt the weight of my bones
and learnt the art of breathing,
through the length of arid days.
Till I learnt to be of service
and soothe the pain of vanity.
Now through these stone walls
and this sword of light,
Free of the borders of skin,
A stranger no more,
I am found upon those waves
that carry the lost home.
The Tipping Point
Our patience with lizard skinned schemers,
The humble turned decadent,
entitled, malevolent and arrogant,
Insidious architects drawing margins
to elevate their earnings.
Preaching equality from throne rooms.
Their words of peace birthed
inside the barrel of a gun.
Those extractive, exhausting reprobates,
Those green card patriots,
Those "virtuous" devils who hide
in the shadows of faith.
It wore thinner than a razor's edge
and we turned livid.
Furious with them, then ourselves
for having ever fostered their ilk.
We stared out our windows,
then walked out our doors,
peered above our fences
and cried"no more. No More!"
Brothers
Brother, my eyes swim in a retreating light,
between the shadows of our twin plight.
our hearts gripped by winter's collar,
furious and blind, bleeding summer.
I ache for a return to those times,
when as brothers we'd trace
those hills and rooftops,
unknowing of this end.
For were our lives not writ
with the ignorant ink of men?
wrapped in traps of intellect,
wearing muted masks to cast illusions
of strength that fool none.
Hostage to our tragedies,
only to find fleeting solace,
at the bottom of a bottle,
estranged from feeling.
Yet even as we raised
our walls and our voices,
we were loved.
By the casualties of our silences,
beyond our deepest afflictions.
May we be candles to our children...
True
Love... Do I even stand a chance?
Beneath your glowing veneer,
Where I meld with old fires
and those vapors of doubt.
For here I have been...
Suspended in forest green,
Watching timid hopes wake,
deep in the sweetest ache.
Tell me true...
Is there a tender thought of me,
safe from those flames?
Or is this a dreamer's lot?
For with you,
I have no bonds of breath.
Crayon Blue
The Present Tense
At times the present feels Like a slow burning fever,
A cascade of hurried days,
A cauldron of memories, hopes and tensions
that rise to futures of vague dimensions.
Read moreThe Divide
Who decides which side of the divide we reside in?
Were the lines drawn on primordial earth
or is this the unfolding of the lottery of birth.
Collapsed upon a chair, gripped by fever
The scales of justice weigh down against her.
A statistic in a maligned welfare trend.
Name tarnished, fate condemned
Single mother of two on minimum wage,
Piecing together a dream in a sweltering cage.
For young that can rise & be proud to stand
Above the cost of birth with a poor hand.
Outside malls, crowds line up for iphones and ipads,
Willing hostages, to marketing and expensive fads,
A generation raised by TV on ritalin and fast food,
Proud children of Gekko because "greed is good"
Self worth outsourced , income outspent
No time for introspection , to examine discontent.
Some claw up the rungs , no values to represent.
Inherit the keys to palaces, pull the strings above the scene,
Ancient story on repeat, power a drug through poverty obscene.
On the corner across a street
Where they say the" vagrants" meet,
With hands stretched out towards a fire,
A community in these times deemed dire.
A brother questions the point of it all,
This business of robbing Peter to pay Paul,
Through jobs with no meaning
for debt with no ceiling.
I killed in Afghanistan for peace at home
Now I'm forgotten , my welcome worn,
Tell me it's true, this spin about a meritocracy,
Show me a place where sweat and blood is currency.
Oh who decides which side
of the divide we reside in?
Were the lines drawn on primordial earth,
or is this the unfolding of the lottery of birth.