saved

Poetry will save us
as it has
and always does

It's poetry who catches us
falling in
and out
of love

A resting tent that nurtures us
while our souls replenish,
touching the universality of our own uniquely fragile stardust...

Stroking our foreheads,
breathing peace into our hearts,
illuminating the beauty in everything
and stitching it
into a cloak of light,
draped lovingly around our shaking shoulders;
whispering cogently to us of its impenetrability, 
of our own sovereign safety,
so that we may rise refueled
our furnace stoked
charged by the life force now burning
outrageously bright in us
to face the world and all its oddly timed surprises
with the optimistic courage of a rising sun

This day is mine!

Poetry has saved me.

Again.

I Thought

I was somewhere that I thought I might see you and my heart was aflutter

I saw someone who could have been you and my soul began to ache

It wasn’t even you

Among the many cars, yours could maybe have been one of them. I couldn’t see it, but the thought that I might had me all atingle.

And then, driving away, there you were, driving towards me

Our eyes met

Our hearts intertwined

And in that moment, I knew.

Knew that I was head over heels in love with you

May we use this time apart well

May we reunite in bliss

And live our lives together in simple joy

For you are beautiful

And so am I

Opti-mist

This magic mist
of Daybreak

Can I store some in my lungs
and breathe it out
much later on
when I need to remember
this perfect purity?

When I am still in bed
The way I feel
the weight of the world
and all its things
is different

Later,
When I’m up,
The support of recent sleep
and lovely sheets
and so many velvet cushions
will have receded

The replenishment I feel at dawn
will have depleted

And the hope I rely on
to carry on believing
that I can put all the clean washing away
or smash the patriarchy
will need a recharge



And so then,
in that moment of need,
if I can breathe
into my depth
and exhale
some of this early morning magic
I might be able to remember
to go gently.







Copyright 2021

Tea and sunrise

Magpies stomping on the roof

Rustling sounds in the garden

different
to the nocturnal rustlings

bolder



shadows of the morning walkers

diligent silhouettes
passing by my window

the dusty film makes it all seem
so romantic

lace hanging haphazardly

like a renaissance era opera dancer

backstage
in a state of delicious dishevelment
limbs everywhere



Dogs pull their humans
eager to know what news this day brings
so easily sated
by the daily miracle
of the sun remembering to rise



What further delight
would any sane person
seek to seek?



Stay here in this

the gold of highest value

hear the praises
sung by those with wings

whose freedom of flight
allows the broadest view from above

who still choose
to come home to roost

They will always remind me

that to be near a tree
is all I need

To breathe the freshness
of the new day

in through my newest leaves
down to my deepest roots

And to feel my expansion

My belonging

My arrival home

In every direction

as I exhale



Dwelling in the ultimate dimension



Grateful for this breath

Copyright 2021

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