Friday, 25 January 2008


the sunflowers
over your head.
call it mystery,
rain in the country

on the porch it would light
like a firefly night

with a sense that we're all
back at home

Sunday, 13 January 2008

sunrise over kellett street

the gypsy woman's name is Suji
an old forest word meaning sunrise.
her home is in Kellett Street
and she is thousands of years old.
you can't see her
unless she dances
you can't hear her
unless she sings
you can't feel her
unless she wants you to.

once she lived with the trees.
her arms were swaying branches
her skin like paperbark
her toes were snakes and earthworms
beautiful and beguiling
home to feed.
her eyes were gaps between the leaves
that shone the light through
millions of times.

anyway .... she moved on
she had to.
that's ok with me she'd say.
so here she is....
in Kellet Street walls
inside these very walls.
you'd know the ones
when you open the door
instantly eased
and fully alive.
she would sing to us all
old forest songs

yesterday Suji told me
she'd be moving again.
they're knocking this place down.
an ugly DA out front on the gate
portents destruction.
I can't grace that gyprock stuff
she'd keenly protest.
there'll be no pressed metal
to stare at ....
and anyway
those plasmas burn my eyes out.
another monstrous, apathetic construct.
I've cursed for less ... she grins.

where will you go?
back to the trees? ....
oh I'd never do that ...
there always here with me.
She sings these words to me
over and over.

I'll find another place
where new things are old
and the art that my ancestors played with
hangs in the hallway.
somewhere a single tree shades you
and pots full of growth
remind us of things.
Where promises sprout out of ideas and talk
where dust dirt turns into gold.
because it always will.
like the sunrise ....
over Kellet Street.

and maybe
around the corner I'll be ... she dances and spins
you'll know the one
when you open the door
or if you ask me to sing.