mark-allinsonWhisper

Australian

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WisteriaLate spring when we first saw the house, / with its back door a cave obscured / behind those breaking waves of blue

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Spring StormCrumpled feathers tumbled on the waves, / Part-interred in low-tide sandy graves. / High-tides flush and dig them up again;

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Flame FlowersWithin the window’s green and blue / The flame-tree’s scarlet flares like hate. / Its seed-embedded fruit pods grew

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Tempus FugitThe Cossack waves came pounding in, / Turquoise horses with silver manes; / Each one charged in their line to win,

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DiagnosticThey speak today of pheromones and genes / When trying to account for such a state / Most often seen in young folk, in their teens

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