Newtown ain’t what it was in the nineties


Walking alongside
the ghosts of adolescent memories
preserved like so many
Pompeii corpses

in back lanes
alley ways
parks
and cemeteries
as though no time has passed.

Holding the hand of the girl
who learned fear and compliance
at the hands
of so many entitled jerks

“It’s ok”
I whisper to her
“I’m here now.”

“Together
we can kick ‘em in the shins
and run

to the underground dance party
where our people
shine
in their white singlets, nipples erect, freak flags flying high…”

My ghosts, they smile,
tears in their young wide eyes
as they squeeze my hand
and nod
with the certainty they always deserved.

The bees

Stored in our bodies

For all this time

As cruelty reigned

Cold and hard

And we knew those soft and warm among us

Were not safe

The bees

Buzzing inside

Out-noising our minds

Keeping us stiff

Alert

Afraid

The bees

Vibrating constantly

So that our jaws may never unclench

The bees

Tying us up from inside

Nervous system overdrive

The bees

So long they resided within us

We forgot that we were not made from them

The bees

Swarming

Storming

Stripped of warning

The bees

Explode from our mouths

As we sigh in relief

At the end of the season

Of harsh tyrrany

The bees

Roaring

Imploring

The noise in our heads

Spills out unchecked

As at last

The women of Australia

Release

The bees

(C) Zoe Xanadu 2022

On the occasion of our historical release from an abusive government.

Ancient
gnarly
filled with seasons

my stories and experiences
infuse me
travel with me
make me who I am...

All things I see, touch, do and feel
come through me and are transmuted

gnarly old me
and all the things I've witnessed

I know that I'm
old as rain
and
fresh as morning dew
just part of something
going along

letting go with easeful acceptance
inhaling what changes the seasons bring

connected,
yet self-contained

aware of the value of the precious glimmers
brought about by togetherness

ok in my solitude
seeing the same stardust in you
as I know is in me

see

breathe

sleep

my business is to simply be

allowing my experiences to wash over me like the light of dawn
gently, transiently

holding on with intentional love
to the aspects that nourish me


releasing with gratitude
the aspects that teach me

celebrating my ancestry,
descendant that I am
of the women they didn't burn

solid,
yet flexible
and permeable

open to the return to myself
of the love that I have released to the universe


Copyright 2021

“Old as rain and fresh as morning dew” is from fierce Australian feminist poet, playwright, and novelist Dorothy Hewett and is part of one of the poems in her play The Chapel Perilous

I honour her.

Regeneration

My girlfriend says she wants
to get a truck
and line them up
and run them over

Ok..
I think,
... that could be good...

...but what of the seeds they’ve dropped?
the seeds just like the ones from which they grew
already sprouting,
spouting entitlement
and ownership
and so much unpaid rent.
What of this invasive weed?


The weed that leads Prime Ministers
to describe women as “finding ourselves in vulnerable situations”

The weed that means that when women demand - request - suggest safety,
Men get angry.

Not all men.

It’s true.
There are men like native plants, unobtrusive, growing well, supporting an ecology of healthy growth in the recovering, adapting rainforest of the truth of human nature.

Quick!

Create a nursery!
Support these plants to propagate and flourish!
Let the birds spread their seed, shitting indiscriminately over
Formal Gardens
Infested Riverbanks
And Backyards the world over.

Let the feminist men multiply.
Let the weeds be made redundant
by the fabulous and unapologetic spread of sweet grevillia!

The age of the dominance of
Morning Glory
is ending.

It was never ok to rub that on your cousin as she slept.

Copyright 2021