Now carry your heart
For its apart of our time
A mosaic of parts
Made from peices of mine

we always joked that i was right about everything;

but i wasn’t right about you.

Love is...

Love is that which holds us together,
And is a force for cohesion.
But when it goes off centre
Turns into a negative emotion.
The master says, be centred
In everything, as you are meant to be!

Ancient Fairchild Oak
Stripped away with saws and rakes
More room for the dead

Seems like
Christmas, for some
Is simply to die for!

I saw her through my window
whilst watching the rain fall
She just stood there for a while
and let it all wash over her

The cold crept inside her bones
till she felt nothing but numb

The rain changed her
and I wish
I was not at the window,
but dancing in the rain

she shimmies her shoulder, she reaches up and touches the star with a pointed finger: a perfect figure.
destiny blows below beneath her feet, ways to subliminally leak the Mask; blue skies and blue highs: that star teeters there static.
being itself, free from change and jurisdiction: being itself.
being itself and time in time while being right on time.

It's gone.
I've checked.
I know.

But then,
it never was
much.

Made mostly of scraps;
A rough frame of old bush lumber;
Walls of flattened fuel cans
and lime coated hessian;
A roof of corrugated iron,
battered and rusting.

Scorched by searing summer heat;
Blasted by dust storms;
Chilled by winter frost.

Insubstantial
against the vastness of desert
that stretched in every direction
from the tiny bush town.

But it was home.
Within its walls
were love and care.
At its table
were sustenance and conversation.

For three years
we lived there
when I was a boy.

I'd rise early
and sit on the edge
of the gibber plain
with our dog
watching the sunrise.

One morning
I heard
the jangling of hobbled camels
returning to town
from a night
in the desert.

On another,
there were herds of cattle,
walked in from
an outlying station
for drafting and yarding,
then transport southward
in a train
hauled by a small steam engine.

At the stock-yard
we'd pretend to be cowboys,
prodding the cattle in the loading race
with sticks,
revelling in the dust and noise,
caring little for their terror
or their destination.

One day we hiked
out past the stock cemetery,
of carcasses leering sightless,
scavenged by crows.
We trudged
to the red sand hills,
then back to the rail-line
for a ride home
with the fettlers.

We went barefoot often -
foot-soles like leather
from the searing sand.
In the heat of the day
we'd pause in the scant shadow of a bush,
to choose the next meagre patch of shade,
then run like the wind
to roll on our backs,
waving scorched feet
in the air.

It's still all there in my memory.
Every few years
I take the old track north,
just to check,
to experience again,
to remember.

Other than the vastness of the desert,
it all seems smaller now -
one tiny settlement
within the compass
of an unbroken horizon.

The old house
is just a memory.

It's gone.
I've checked.
I know.

But then,
it never was
much.

Bad times: You run in circles.

Good times: Others run in circles for
                       you.

His face
The sight brings a smile to yours
His eyes
You can stare into them forever
His lips
You wish you can kiss them
His hands
You wish you can intertwine them with yours
His mind
It intrigues you
His soul
You can love it for eternity
His heart
It doesn't belong to you

This phrase is absolutely disgusting
and it is completely crushing.

This phrase is an invasion of privacy
and it constantly gives me anxiety.  

This phrase makes me want to throw up
every time you ask a CHILD before they grow up.

This phrase shouldn't exist
don't you understand the pain it inflicts?

Just leave us alone
to live our life.
Let us live outside of the shadows
and put away that knife.

Come to the river
The river knows everything
It contains all shades
Jasper, emerald, sapphire
No past, no future
But a deathless present is
There. Swim and know all
From the mountains to the seas.
Intimate secrets
Are reflected to the sky
Listen closely to its cry

You’ll become a poet of habit
A Monday’s offer in the supermarket
Your words will sell themselves
To feed the overfed
Alas
You don’t like the idea
Yet
You’re consumed by it.

Let my silence teach you

what my words

did not

I say:
Do you want me to pretend you do not exist?

She says:
Do as you wish.

I perceive:
All I was once you moved onto the next,
A waste of breath.

What a mutual perception process,

You keep on running and now I have nothing but my beliefs.

And what do you have?
Your cup is empty

It would be full but...
You poke holes in all the words I speak

This is my heartache
To bear witness, to listen
As one of my adult sons
Cries from a heartbreak
Only to me will they cry
As I make soothing noises

you never asked to read my poetry
maybe that was the sign.
i told you i wrote for fun,
you shrugged and moved on.

Happiness is a drug,
you consume it,
it consumes you.
The pills spilled
from the prescription container,
so many of them
your life labelled away

Sadness is a drug,
you embrace it,
it embraces you.
Like water, it fills you
and yet
you are still empty on the inside
Torrents of waves that keep coming
one after another
Drowning, exhaling
letting go of life

Emotions are not real
but only a stimulation,
a drug.
I stare at the collection of masks
hanging in my bedroom closet
wondering which one
I’ll wear next…

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

pony-tailed playmate
head tucked in her shirt
gazing steadily down
at her toes in the dirt

chaos tiptoes around her
naive oblivion
journeys in far away lands
just west of the meridian

watercolor fairy tales
bleeding outside the lines
unaware of the danger
unaware of the signs

let me sit with you, darling
in the dampened flower beds
and paint a new world
for us in our heads

I’m so scared,

and I don’t even know
what I’m scared of.



I don't even know
what I'm scared of,

but I know that
I need to be scared.

It haunts me sometimes
The distraught look in your eyes
Knowing that you can't get through

It's much worse on the other end
Seeing you so upset
Knowing you won't open up

Not even to me

It haunts me sometimes
Seeing you so unresponsive
Like I'm dead to you

I hate the feeling so much
Being on the outside
Desperate to be let in

I'm sorry I ever did it to you

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems like *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

Life
                                                            ­    has
            a
                       funny
     way
                                           of
                                  
                                ruining

      
                                                      Lives.