there is an ominous sense of portent
in the air
in the orange glow of the sun
in the dry heat
in the smoke in the air

for others it was far worse
in hellish bush fire infernos
seeing their homes and all familiarity
converted to ash
alone with nothing but tears

a natural disaster
born of
unnatural plundering of earth resources
the consequence of consumerism without restraint
and a soothsaying denying bogan Shrek of a PM
pretending to care just to save his political neck
go back to kirribilli ya ****
there’s no votes for you here

suddenly the consequences of she'll be right
we'll vote for relatable people who will take care of jobs
are outed as people who have no long term idea
but the're own short term political survival
and are culpable for the hell around us now

suddenly the offence we have inflicted on nature
is showing us the kick back
and the arrogance of thinking we were in control
is being torched by an angry mother
who doesn't love us for what we've done
we were deluded to think we had any control
now surrounded by bush fires that are out of control

portending a time for humility
and acceptance that we are not needed

They’re just things, they said. They can be replaced.

30-year-old handwritten letters from friends.
Photos of a place that no longer exists.
The stuffed animal that had a name.
The quilt grandma sewed for me.

You have your memories, they said.

But my possessions were the keys to my  mind’s drawers.
My old life is locked away.
I can't see it now,
through the smoke and flames.
I can't smell it,
only the  poisonous odor of melting vinyl.
I can't hear it,
just the crackling and crashing of the trees.

You’re lucky to be alive, they said.

But I'm having trouble proving I'm alive.
I have no passport, drivers license or diploma.
No utility bill,  birth certificate, or computer hard drive.
No Social Security card.

Some have it worse than you, they said.

Some always have it worse.
I didn't lose a husband, mother or child.
Just my cats. I thought they would follow me out the door
but they ran in the other direction.
I try to think of them in the forest somewhere,
climbing trees, and
not as charred bones.

But
I have the car.
I still have the car. I will drive it far
far away
from here.

I saw a satyr in the woods,
A centaur in the meadow;
Travelling on, I remarked on a fawn
Hallowing out reeds for a pipe.
The world around me was green,
The water ran clear, cold and fresh,
The air I breathed was historic.
Crosses were in the future.
No Mecca to visit,
No Temple to rebuild.

I am a beach ***, a sun-worshipper, a tree hugger.
I will worship the dove, not the sacrifice.
I will homage the god of the kingdom that is here,
Before she rejects her offspring.

Before I looked forward, I looked at the sky
I looked at birds whose numbers will die
I looked at the plane threatened with tragedy
I observed the moon conquered by humanity

Before I looked forward, I looked to my right
I looked at the gas stations that filled me with fright
I saw the grass littered with trash
I looked at the stores begging for cash

And before I looked forward, I looked to the ground
I looked at the bubblegum blackened and browned
I saw the asphalt crumbling fast
I looked at the coal which once was vast

So before I looked forward, I looked right behind
I looked at the coal burnt sky drifting high
I saw the foundations of our nations
I looked at the people ignoring the implications

Then I looked up, and I looked straight forward
I looked for an end to all our horrors
I saw that soon it would all be done
And I looked forward, and I saw the sun.

Kiss me with your iron lips,
cold, unyielding, rigid as your mind.
Your smoke curls down,
caresses my hips.
I smell of rain and trees
and fragrant flowers,
but when we join,
your scent is all that matters.
Harsh, coppery, it weighs on
my tongue,
harassing my senses,
and pushing me down.
We move together,
a torrid of steps,
I try to be flexible,
sway around your form.
You’re stubborn,
push me away,
make me bend to you.
I shed tears,
rivers deep enough for fish.
My cries are that of an eagle,
an owl, a hawk,
--take your pick.
Hands shaking,
broken trees never replaced.
My world is dying,
stuck under
your heavy boot,
one of rubber,
the dominance of men,
of industry and
selfish civilization
which grind away at me until
I am hurt,
beyond repair.
I am nature and you are man.

1

Another space arrives. The newborn cries.
And the destiny determined:
Oven or matchstick.

Descendant of both; inheritor of another:
A machine that dreams itself into being,
Dragging its sleeping subjects after it.

Sustenance of nightmares, the food of what
God is, blood the earth pumps forth.
The plastic legacy is siphoned off,

Its artifacts cheap jewellery:
Enamel glinting white and turquoise.
Flimsy chains that never last,

And yet last forever, the paint flaking off.
So too does the rust on this delicate orchid.
It is an oracle of poisons.


2

The city burns in its incandescence.
The indelible halo
Of a lime-green candelabra

Makes light of midnight. Our slumber is
Punctured by gunshots and the drone of the
Ambulance.

Not a foot but a juggernaut,
Pandora’s box,
Sowing the seeds of your distress.

Fallout marks the potent epoch.
The neon octopus spews it back,
Invisible print on the murderous air.

Where water drinks
No diving bell can bear
The pressure of such fuchsia.

El cuero arde
cómo arde el cartón,
como arde el presente, en los dos hemisferios

Hay lugares donde los pies protestan,
donde la impuntualidad es menos sutil  
y se disfraza con vernáculas y un buen traje  

Lugares donde hablan tu lengua
y donde hablan las mías
mientras se sirven un plato de comida antes
de despedirse y ir por su día

Donde se enfrían los pies,
y coreo un rio rojo
Donde se escurre la vida sagrada
en un palomar de discordia

2.
Ahí nadie vuela
yo quisiera decirles que de ese recinto
ninguna persona toma vuelo

Sin falta de acuerdo,
nadie vuela
y cielo azul,
azul de ahí se ve lejos

De ahí veo las manos de los viejos levantadas hacia cielo
en balanceo
y me quiero ir.

Camino hacia mi madre.
<<de aquí nadie vuela>> le susurro a ella  
 en el oído
pero ella levanta sus manos más alto
y me ignora

Me trago mi nudo de garganta,
y decido ir me,
pues de aquí no e de volar

3.
El creer es necesario-fe
cómo es necesario
el hacer-acción

Dos hemisferios, en un solo mundo
y tú plenitude de vida
acatan la flor de esperanza en mi corazón.

Se que todo vuela, cuando viene el viento del cambió.