Friday, October 26, 2012

Hello out there. Soon, my Real Poetry Movies and short stories. Cheers

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Some poems from ‘Love Poet Live’ Eaglemont Press. 2002.

The poem

Welcome to the last, great,
Non-commercial art form.

Unremarked, unsung, I am rare.
Oxygen, in the swamp of images.

Gaze on these words, reckon
How deep you can go into my dream.

Immerse in my clear stream,
Nourish the meadows of your attention.

Listen to my water song
And drink deeply.

Escape in me to other worlds, where I whisper
Silk across your skin, drip plum juice off your chin.

If you are uncomfortable here,
Let me walk with you, I will be your guide.

The way to read a poem is often.
Walk with me often to the end

Where I will leave you,
Your heart full, my burden eased.

Anthem of my question

What is this Australia my country?
In vision blooming our 21st century republic.

What is this Australia my country?

Invaded and inflicted by genocide
We cringed under the colonial lash.
Exiled in chains over cruel oceans we came
Time and time again destitute, convicts,
soldiers, slaves, freemen, migrants, refugees
braving oceans, braving oceans for freedom.

What is this Australia my country?
The gold miners at Ballarat rising up
In republican frustration
dying at Eureka Stockade
lost the fight, won the day, light of my way.

What is this Australia my country?
Throwing their youth into hell’s throat
On the futile beach-head of Gallipoli.
The war to end all wars decimated my ancestors
My mother was three before she saw her father
Home, intact but his belief forever shaken.

What is this Australia my country?
Grandfather showed me
The Tatungalung camp obliterated
To make way for the Stratford football oval.
His neighbours, the fathers, sons, settlers
Poisoning, shooting, murdering, raping
The People of the Land.

What is this Australia my country?
Under my fingernails, under my feet
The rich, deep dirt of Ballarat.
Over my head the Southern Cross
Stars in my eyes my country.

What is this Australia my country?
Dog-shaped, weather-shaped, continent of millennia.
This is the paradox I live and die for.
My parents who raised eleven children
who suffered the Depression
two world wars
the birth of the bomb
fifties Catholicism
mass migration
born before television.

What is this Australia my country?
Born of soiled goods and blood on our book
Believing in freedom above all the rest.
My people who found their heart
Through poetry and sport.
Who found their mind
through gambling and politics.
And who found the vision of their republic
Through Mabo and multiculture.

What is this Australia my country?
It is the nation of the people of the Earth. 

Journey to freedom

The pen stumbles across the paper desert.
The thirst that produces mirages propels
The hand searching for the words
To slake a parched mind, soften a cracked tongue.

The compulsion to hear the music of a street
Slipping down the valleys to a city where
A river running through builds and speaks of
Its journey to freedom in your arms.

From - Aphorism suite.

Not so strange a place
to carry one’s soul.

Jesus, the trick is,
to turn the wine
into water . . .

Sticks and Stones . . .
What a wonder, the sound and plunder
that comes from a man with war in his mouth.
But words alone never broke a bone,
for wearing vulgar slander,
truly makes one stronger.

The trick is
To realise there are
Two sides to you.
How you feel inside
And how your friends see you.
You feel like
A crumpled piece of paper.
Your friends say you are wonderful.
Believe your friends.
                                      (From ‘Love Poet Live’ Eaglemont Press. 2002)

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Rain. No Work. A poem from my book Real Face

I wish I were back in dusty Dubbo
cutting asparagus on Edgell's farm
I'd break my back to earn a quid.
Or chipping weeds 12 hours each 20k day
on the black dirt paddocks of Collarenebri,
I'd do the 60 hour week
tempt the sun to make me weird.
I'd roll on vines in Mildura
pick apples in Tassie
cherries in Young
anywhere away from here.
But darling it's raining
and the gold nuggets have
washed away in the flood.