Posts Tagged ‘poem’


In spring children ran

Through rainbows on stems

Hand holding hand

Through holiday swarms

In winter-bare trees

Flew coloured balloons

Like the strangest of flowers

Like coloured moons

Girls rocked their fairy wings

And glittering haloes

Boys worked their capes

Like trainee super-heroes

And musicians jammed

On temporary stands

While costumed players

Danced in the spring

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Jack of Angels


Jack of Angels is searching
For a ladder to Heaven
‘Cause he’s sprained his wing
And it hurts to fly

Little Mirriam dances around him
Asking child’s questions
Eyes flash like dark diamonds
And their baggage – a puppy and a bird
Wiggle wih curiosity and unguarded hope

Jack’s footprints shine on asphelt
Air shimmers around him
Afraid to bump a feather
Or kiss a freckle

His arms are filled with little girl
And warm puppy
The bird preens on his shoulder

Jack looks on to where he’s going
Losing track of where he’s been
Behind him skips an entourage of motley strays
Thrilled to follow wherever he leads

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For Pauli

There’s a way through life
That your feet learn by walking
Fluid as water, changeable as weather

The path you walk starts at birth
And ends at your death
Yet it began before you
And will continue after you

The way is its own magic
It owns you and transforms you
And nurtures you like a mother

And when the old man
Worn out and footsore
Reaches the end of his days
He is taken home into the way

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I’ve been reading Stephen King’s Dark Tower series and I can only regret that I didn’t find it years earlier. I’m up the fourth book, so there’s a few more to go.

The beauty of the language and imagery floors me, not to mention a rip roaring adventure featuring characters drawn by a master.

I’m loving it. King is turning my poetry brain on.

I haven’t seen a wonder for a while

I’ve seen a fun-der

And a sun-der

But nothing’s rocked my soul

In the dream fogged night

Nothing’s made me breath thanks

To the may-be god

For the glory of enlightenment.


Glory, glory

I need to know that something is worth the daily grime

I need to feel transported beyond the limits of my finite skull

By the potential of imagination


Glory, glory

What may be

On a new summer’s day

When the world is a plum ripe for plucking

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The ANU Poets Lunch has continued , in various incarnations,   for the last
30 years – and remains a mad poets’ wine party where Alice is always tipsy but never drunk and the Cheshire cat passes around non-animal rennet cheeses.  The latest episode was held on Wednesday 2nd December at the ANU Emeritus Faculty.

This year’s  lunch was dedicated to Joel Webster, a generous friend who sadly is  no longer with us.

This year’s  theme was Pandora’s Box (which may have been an amphora, according to David Walker’s illustration) and we spent several enjoyable hours examining its contents.

Here’s my contribution:

Wings and Stings

Just a little bit
I won’t give right in
But I need this
You make me feel
Champaign bubbles in my veins
What might we be
You and me?

Just a little more
My temptation
I despair when you leave
And crumple at your touch
Like a doll entranced by its maker

You are strong wine
I crack
And all my disparate bits of
Love, joy, desire and sacred honour
Go flying
Out on ghostly wings
Poor heedless moths
Save only one
Remains entrapped
The dearest part that knows the lie
I can’t let go of

It was unanimously agreed  that Pandora was givena bum rap and the case against her was dismissed by the poetic jury as being yet another instance of women bearing  the blame for all the world’s woes.

We also remembered that it’s been 20 years since several of us, including Joel and myself, first hosted ‘Writers at Kimbos’ .

Long ago, but not far away, on Monday nights at Kimbos winebar in Phillip, we conducted readings of poetry and short prose for a couple of years.  Wow. So many years have passed and yet I don’t feel that much older. I guess everybody has that complaint.  I can’t remember where the years went, nor can I re-use the time. Heavy sigh – that’s life.

Cover by Jane Virgo

In 1991, our small committee published ‘Rescuing Beached Mondays’, a collection of the first year’s readings which contained some fine poetry and prose, including work by Joel, Mark O’Connor,  Lorne Doyle, Brian Hungerford, Myron Lysenko, Linchay Bone, Robin Davidson, Trevor Crook and many talented others.  Strangely, after all these years, the book can still be found at BibliOZ and Marlowes Books.

It only had a small print run – only 500 copies, but it was well received. We were pleased with the collection, and consequently founded Boris Books, named after David Walker’s marvellous cat, Boris Katoff, who sat on every page.

Boris has been an absent friend for many years,  but Boris Books born in 1993,  is still alive – if not prolific – and even manages to break even.

Not bad for a small press.

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Song for young lovers

On Saturday, we held a party for a much loved young couple who are starting out together.

A new poem has been dedicated to them.

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Purring Centre

Hello everyone.

This is my first post in a little while.

I’ve gone back to work – yay! though not full time yet.

I just uploaded a new poem, quite cute, that bit me out of nowhere, like all good poems & kitty cats should.  It’s sitting under Poems about Feelings,  just waiting for a visit from a friend.

Hope you enjoy.

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I am fascinated by transitions – just look at my silvergull picture – she can fly, but she is on the ground.  She stands on the shore and faces the sea.

All those lovely transitions – limens, thresholds, sunsets, birth & death, metamorphosis, horizens, shorelines, dreams.

All that amazing potential you can step into – here now, then – what?.

My latest poem Excellent Boundaries touches on this love of mine.  I would like to post more on this fascination.

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Dark Beauty

This poem is more chiseled, more finely etched than most of what I’ve written.

I wrote it after an intense lunchtime discussion with a friend over a good bottle of red.


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cup of kindness

Season’s greetings to everyone.  We had a loverly New Year here – a small group of much loved younglings christened our new sunroom with music – rockstar, home cooking and laughter.  A great start for the year and the room still rings with their happiness – it seems to have permeated the wood.

I’ve posted a poem – entitled Tight Rope – about the hazards of losing your footing, especially in public.

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