Her name is Chang Champoo,
translated as ‘Elephant Pink.’
Met on the street in tourist Thailand.
9 years old.
6 months pregnant.
A beggar in an urban landscape.

Hungry,
grabbing sugar cane from my fingers.
Desperate for food.
Destined for an early grave.

“Where are you from?”
A question to her mahout,
in Thai hauled from fragments of memory.
“The border.”  
Seemingly obtuse but not really.
Only one nearby.
Burma.

Elephants,
born in captivity,
used in logging,
now unemployed.
Teak forests of old but a distant memory.

Did I only fuel her belly
buying over-priced sugar cane?
Or did I also fuel
rampant exploitation
of disadvantaged animals?

Not everything in life
Is black and white.
Sometimes it is grey,
This night it was Pink.
How could I refuse her sustenance
when confronted by those
mournful pachyderm eyes.

The question lingers…

it’s a strange place
this alien isle
land of big skies
and endless red earth

this place of dreaming
of promise and hope
of black fellas
and white convict stock

this place of flowers
coloured larger than life
of kookaburras, koalas
and ‘roos

this place where the sand
is whiter than white
and the sharks rule
turquoise blue seas

this land of dust
and fragrant winds
where silvered light
blinds and burns

this place that keeps secrets
close to its breast
and where man is in thrall
to the land

Christmas excitement
Gaffers & gofers
booms & boxes
trucks & trolleys

They've chosen today
to shoot a movie
2 floors below me
No pics allowed

Twenty four tropical Christmases
It still seems so odd
so discordant
Disconnected

Gambling movies filmed
when most of my friends
are last-minute shopping
and thinking of Santa

They're wrapping presents
and keeping secrets
Thinking about how long
the turkey will take to cook

Dressed in jumpers
coats and scarves
Fingers blue
noses red

No puddles to slide on here
no snow
Just air like silk
and monsoon rain

Sweat trickling
in endless rivers
No goose bumps leaving tracks
across my skin

Out the window
cheeky mynah birds chatter
a white bellied eagle soars
Not a robin in sight

As the sun sets
painting the sky
a kaleidoscope
of gentle colour


A nomad soul wonders
why she's happy to wander
And yet
she so longs to belong

sitting

rivers of Singapore life
flow around me
over me

forever drowning in noise


clatter of plates
rumbling traffic
the discordant wailing of ringtones

diaspora

cultures, colours, faiths
streaming together
oil on water

you stare

‘ang moh,’  you mutter
red haired devil
am I?

alone

you don’t like
to share my table
or sit by me on the bus

and yet

like water on the mountaintop
ever seeking the sea
with gentle persistence we live together

still waters of humanity run deep

setting sun

blood red orb falling into mercury sea

breeze gentle like a lover’s caress

a stillness so pure



inky blackness

endless arch peppered with stars

planets blink, flying fish dance

phosphorescence luminous in the wake of your footfall



and so you sit

breathing

absorbing

the very essence of earth, sea and sky



moon rise

full, swollen with fecundity

silence embraces you

life’s negativity is cleansed from your soul



and so you sit

dreaming

wishing on a star



sun rise

pink, peach, soft

enveloping your being

giving birth to a brand new day



to a brand new you

circular world
world of circles
forever forming
closing


experiences layered
white upon black
laughter over tears


fragile plates of existence
adrift on
hot-tempered magma


death
in life
in death
perpetual spherical passage  


blood spilled
lives shattered
in the name of religion
again


universe formed
in explosion
man murders man
with explosives


circle returning on itself

Dreams echo in the
winter of words. Catalysts
or chains? ...perception

Bravery comes in many forms
For some it is in battle in a foreign land
For others it is in battle with their body

One day a diagnosis out of the blue
Turns life on its head
Turfs plans out the window

What’s this?
Why me?
I don’t know what to do

Plaintive cries echo in the darkness
As you stand alone despite those around you
For you alone can fight this battle

There is advice of course
From the medics and others
There is treatment in various forms

Diagnosis turns to prognosis
At some point down the line
You always hope for the best

Against all odds you fight
Try this and that
Mainstream and sometimes out of the stream

You do whatever you need to do
It is the way
It is your fight

But life is such that death
- that word we are not meant to utter -
Is inevitable and so it arrives

Even when expected
Such as it can be
It knocks the living sideways

But we need to respect
It was your battle
You chose weapons that suited you

You fought so hard
It wasn't always easy
But fight you did

And now you have moved on from this life
But please know
My life is richer because of you

You will never be forgotten

gliding through unbroken water
night-cooled hands
caressing my body
unhindered sun baking my shoulders

myriad of rainbows
reflecting in ripples
on the bottom of the pool
on the surface of my consciousness

sliding
slicing
from light into shadow
shadow into light

until the sun rises high in the sky
until only the silhouette of a flickering palm
casts its mark
in the blueness beneath

muscles pumping
heart beating
blood charging
lightening in my veins

Phoenix

born of fire and water

soaring

egg boxes stacked
one atop the other
row upon row

metal gratings
stop the world
from entering

limp washing
prayer flags
in polluted air

humanity captive
deprived of light

unable
or
unwilling to escape?

Agung, Abang, Batur
sacred volcanoes
gateways to Gaia

standing silent
omnipresent
dawn’s light your only adornment

at your feet
paddy fields
emerald carpets
across which you stride

Cobalt night; threads of
jasmine woven with moonlight.
Earth and ether smile.

We stepped onto
each other’s paths,
you and I,
your journey and mine entwined.

Paths that crossed unexpectedly,
the hand of destiny
editing our scripts.
A magical moment.

Like flowers blossoming
in the warmth of spring,
we turned to face
into each other’s light.

And in that light
our souls dance,
to a sacred rhythm.
Beyond all time and space.

In your physical absence
your presence echoes
in my heart and soul.
Here… although you are there.

everywhere knife blades
sharp
relentless

no peace
amongst the chaos
only madness

noise
filling every space
silence slaughtered

smiles gone
replaced by anguish
the angels weep

Lightness touched darkness.
Haunting melodic echoes
danced off painted sky.

Trapped in humid air,
endless echoes vanquish sleep.
Too early; too late.

Pheasant calls, mist a
gentle cloak. Ephemeral,
you smiled and were gone.

walking Van Dieman’s Land
Hobart
following footsteps through the park
christmas roses on the arm of campanulas
sashaying in the winter wind
an oxymoronic botanical dance
appropriate given the place

isle of heat to the north
isle of ice to the south
between
this isle of freedom & hope
place of salvation when the centuries turned
18th to 19th
settlement ships sailing south
feeding their human cargo
on dreams

time moves on
21st century now resides in the park
where vertical walls carry your headstones
telling your story
explaining how you stained the earth with your blood
and
why the ether echoes with your tears

so many lives measured not in years
but
in days or months

you are honoured now
finally
very right

hard edges
relentlessly slicing my soul
rending to tatters if allowed

forever protecting
constantly repairing

I gaze seawards, skywards
to vistas beyond vision
worlds with no hard edges

expanses where souls dance
to the lullaby of love

borderless
beyond time and space

leave me there

Born of love
one likes to think
They never told you

Actions speak louder than words

Their actions told of no love unspoken
But instead
of resentment and anger
that you came into the world

Like a broken record

You didn't understand
You thought it all a mistake
They didn't belong to you
You came from someone else

But that was just denial
You didn't want to believe
that those who brought you forth
could be so cruel

"Sticks and stones will break my bones
but words will never hurt me."
Childhood mantra

Lies

Words strike the deepest wound
Cut through the layers
no wall impenetrable

Imprinted
in permanent ink

Or so you thought

Time moves on
death
age
illness
change the matrix

In your darkest hour
you think
"Can I forgive?
Can I forget?"

And then the demons came
travelling on the wings of death

A seemingly endless
drug-induced battle against illness
surgery on surgery
medevacs

"Come on," you say
"I can beat you all."

Bravado
but actually the truth

Demons equal rubbers

Triumph over them...
patterns, imprints erased

Enter step mother - stage right
Rug pulled
world upside down again

But you allowed it

Time stops for no man
Or woman
Age
More surgery

Mirrors

Thankful for all past events
They molded you
to the person you are

Give thanks with open heart
to he and she
For all their deeds

Their words didn't hurt you
They fertilised you
You blossomed

Build the bridge

He is old
He is your father
No denying it

Tell him you love him
With unfettered heart
And forgiveness in your voice

Be

tossing
restless
the in-between space
of darkness before sleep

cogs turning
in the engine of mind
need oiling
no shops open

dawn
light through the window
illuminating corners
where no one can hide

Maybe four years old
Pretty pink pyjamas
***** and torn

Wisdom of age
Beyond young years
Etched on your sad face

Feet cut & bleeding
Have they ever
seen shoes?

Hair matted
Twigs for adornment
Baubles of the earth

Blue plastic mug
Held upwards
Empty

You were here yesterday
You will be here tomorrow
But for how long?

The world walks by
Seeing you
Avoiding you

You touch their hearts
Maybe their souls
But not their wallets

It’s not money
You need in your blue mug
It’s love

Cockerels and crickets
Bali breezes; gentle sun
Earth spins, beauty dawns

Cockerels and crickets,
whispering wind; gentle sun.
Dawn Bali...soul balm

Look around you.
At reflections
in mirrors
and patterned glass.

At those you know
and who you don't,
including your self.
What do you see?

Happiness, joy,
life fully lived;
or do you see
life ever-longing?

For what may be,
in one week or two,
this year or next,
five years or ten.

When we've got
more time,
are older,
have money.

This very moment
in which we live.
This ephemeral footstep in time.
Is this not the most important?

Is it not better
to live and know love,
to cry and know laughter,
to fall and be able to rise.

To walk in the light
and the dark,
and then
in the light once again.

Life is too short.
Too precious.
None of us knows
what awaits.


Have courage.
Be daring.
Take risks.
Live. And love.

To the full.

Now.

the sun is at its zenith
blazing down
from an unsullied sky
baking the black sand
beneath my feet
so hot it burns

a strong onshore wind
is chasing luminous white horses
across the surface
of a deep indigo sea
leaving their salty touch
on my skin as it passes

a melody gamelans and drums
gongs and cymbals
laughter and chatter
ripples around me
and the song of an ice cream seller
is making my mouth water

I turn my gaze towards the heavens
watching the kites
write their poetry
in the sky
as they float high above
our sea of sea of smiles

vanda miss joaquim
lying bruised and battered
on the shore
what is your story

the gift of a lover
given with a smile
with tender words whispered
from a heart filled with hope
and a body aching with desire

or perhaps
you carry in your memories
memories of one who has journeyed
beyond this life
ashes of their earthly body
scattered at sea
you in their wake

or perhaps
perhaps
you were carried to the shore
on the wings of the wind
plucked from your stem
floating to where
silver foam kisses golden sand
dancing this way and that
in the embrace of the ocean

where
finally
in the face of unrequited love
you relinquish your flawless beauty
to its graceful omnipotence

slumped under a tree
in the centre of the city
half-empty bottle by your side
liquid purple ticket
to the dreamtime

eyes shut
foot twitching
a smile on your round black face

lost in ancestral memories
walking the scorched red earth
of Arnhem land
escaping for a while
the hatred of the white New World

rivers of metal
unable to flow
trapped
by sheer volume
in gorges of girded concrete

fingers drumming
frustrated heartbeats
on immobilised steering wheels
imprisoned
impotent
feeling the passage of
time that doesn’t wait

Lily pads floating.
Darkness deep; moon veiled this night.
Boatmen dance, geese sleep.