harlequin green
halfway to yellow
you'll be my queen
on a seat made for one

winterbourne water
flows freely in springtime
when all of my colours
fix fast to the page

dancing at dawn
rolling in wonder
the sweetness of dew
still kissing the ground

starlight's a perfume
soaked in a handkerchief
snapdragons roar
when the wind's in their cheeks

ribbons a-flutter
stand up the maypole
pigtails and dresses
the tune is a round

spun from a world away
land in the distance
once a day yesterday
viewed from the mast

At dusk, as the air stills
And the solitary bat tosses zigzags
Over neat rows of back gardens,
I can find a pause for my day.
The soft chill from the greying sky
Excites my skin with goosebumps
And ****** me into stupefied vigilance.
Venus overhead, puncturing the ether,
A single grain before the steady stream.
This same air, grasped and gasped
As we first arrive, now smothers me
Into bold passivity. Gradually I recall,
Something beyond my daytime scratchings,
A solemn profundity that earths
Me back into this ancient ground.

endless meetings
using screens
built with a disregard
for eye contact
increases my
sense of isolation

All my songs are love songs
Perhaps you cannot hear
The words are woven from the strands
Of lovers’ ashen hair

My melodies are whispered
There’s barely any tune
The rise and fall perceptible
In phrases of the moon

My chords are jarring, hollow sounds
All glocke without the spiel
An empty rib cage rattling
Beneath the Catherine wheel

My rhythm’s mostly regular
A symphony of clocks
It lacks a beating human heart
Just ticks without the tocks

All my songs are love songs
For lovers to find peace
You’ll hear them in sea shells
When all the waves have ceased

A half inflated football
Thuds against pebbledash
Garage door thunderclap
Announces childhood
Attention spans
Across the cul-de-sacs
Estate to estate
Squeezed between the tip
Of the town planner's 2H pencil
And the flick of a syringe
Stupified by sunshine
Half baked by boredom
The grubby kids
With their snot soaked sleeves
Kicking out in the dusty leaves

I miss my paved paradise
I’d even pay the $20 admission for the tree museum
If it were still there

he loaded all the cups
into the dishwasher
very neatly
the right way up
as I opened it
and saw them all filled
with tepid grey water
I knew it would be
difficult to tell him
why it was wrong
without it making him feel
squashed
I would
praise his initiative for wanting to do it and
praise the neatness with which he did it
but still I knew it would sound
chastising
and his desire to please
and be accepted in the world
would shrink a little afterwards
so I tipped the grey tepid water into the sink
and reloaded the dishwasher again
with the cups upside down
he could unload it later
sometimes it's better to think
you're going a little mad
if it means you get to keep
what's good inside
a little longer