If love.

If love is a burden then why do you seek me

If love is a drug then why do you resist me

If our love is deeper then why do you push me away

If our love is gone then why do you search for me

Even Shadows are made of Light

The parts in me you love
are reflected in you.
A gentle calling to everything
fragile and afraid in us
gentleness is everything.

Tremble away with your cuttle shell
when you think I’ve seen your tender heart.
Your heart is enough
You are complete.
exceptional with your
vulnerable saved up best parts.

Even shadows are made of light
and I cannot hate yours.
They come to me frankly
and I understand a
willingness for all of it in truth

or just the willingness
and have we ever been so naked.

I don’t know how you’ll return
but should you see this night
the clearest night
like there would be no questions,
just acceptance and thanks.

Franjipani on me,
through the window
everything drifts.
There’s a gleaming sleekness
I spill the my wine, the red
because a beetle came careering at my forehead
the place your hand rest
and touches.

Tiny taxi boats
and moonfish glide and

The moon has me gripped and gently caressed.
I fall to my knees
for its beauty
takes me.

I am willing to die in your light.
I’ve grazed my knees from the falling
but only joy
my midnight blue.

It’s nearly a full moon
and I haven’t seen your face since I don’t know when.
I remember you though,
I remember your skin
your voice
the things you said
the pain you felt
the illusion that underneath these skies
I’d found my lost part,
spinning wildly around
the centuries
landing right there beside me
feeling like there had been
no departures.

I may never see you again
and if I do I am not sure how I would
contain the lonely space
the one you flew from
the departure
from your home in me.

It’s all
the others gaze upon your body.
I’m alone
but warm.
Passionate ghost dance.

I long to return to see the place where you stood
and I force myself not to.

You are somewhere distant.

Open again
this same heart
on this earth
by this ocean

t.s. 1994



Changing of the guard

returning to the faster world of one step at a time
of re-aligning synapses
catching tears with cue tips as another’s mother dies
3 of us have lost our girls
a changing of the guard
a sadder morning sunset
concave thread of pain
as you swallow
and stuck half way down
what am i here for
to catch my babies before they hit the pavement
and crack
to the pace of non- adjectival




I’ve walked

Seems she has barely been beautiful,
seems she has barely been sung.
Once again the ugly duckling and never the graceful swan.
There walks that girl,boy,handsome other.
There walks her beating heart.
Such ugliness is a joke to his eyes,suggesting
but there sings her soul of butterflies
her weightless, shining form.
Leave her alone you bastard swine,leave her to swim and glide.
You’ve damaged her enough all said,
your barbs drawn blood,your words destroyed.
leave her
to all her beauty
that you will never see or touch
leave her alone
for she is alone
and you have made it so.


Poetic machine

the clothes dryer broke
the one I took from mums
I take off the lid to fix the starter switch
has blown
Turn the drum
to clear the lint which has gathered
over years and years
In big blue texta I find my father’s handwriting
2 black wires to the right
white to the center
whats left to the left

I touch the texta
I turn the drum
there must be more
he knew I’d open the dryer one day
he needed to say something
something else
I knew you’d open this dryer one day
so I write this message for you
I search for the hidden text
my secret
my father’s lost letter

2 black wires to the right
white to the center
whats left to the left


red guitar


could be because

my mother and father are dead

could be because

it’s red

likely that I’m hurting somewhere

as thats how we get fed


Sydney heat

humid air

Jacaranda rain

just me

and my red guitar.







a heartening tiredness


we allowed ourselves lastnight

to let the nectar flow

3 sisters who needed

to stitch the fractured images

of our mothers death

weep quietly at all

the should’ves and could’ves

conspiracy against nurses

cursing ourselves

to try and squeeze even 2 more days

of her life for us


to hold her

out of love

out of morphine haze

out of this world

such a private thing is grief

but the company of sisters

shared an unbelievable pain

and helps one feel

a little less alone

8:41 PM


There is a certain silence.


in death

you were hard and cold

but you looked somewhat beautiful and sad

but Mama

you looked like Head Angel

and I could’nt come too close,


I kissed your silver hair

without a touch to your

hard block,

cold block,

heavy, light body

with a spirit which had long gone.

My head is so confused as to where you might be.

All my existential reckonings have been fraught

with warm, intangible locations of your spirit

and your


All those heavy kilos of invisible belief.

49 days here?

Gone to Forster fishing?


Least of all with Dad.

Least of all with me.

Why didn’t I take notes when you told me who

it was in that photo.

You told me again and again but never enough to


There is a certain


ts. 2010




One comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *