Watch yourself guys
near these leaves of three
along and off the trails we
stroll – the anointed
pretty little leaves
how wet and ready
to wipe fire
across your skin
look how the bees search buds
and how they search
for better buds
‘Animals aren’t affected by urushiol’
I tell my boy
he asks me why
the plant exists
I try not to answer
with some conclusion that some of nature
needs defence only against people
‘Perhaps there’s something special about them
we don’t know yet.’
after days of rain we need to leave
the house is all spelling and online
math lessons wwhaat’s fo-or diiinnner
and the constant repertoire of piano
that sometimes accompanies the theatre
of my nightly dreams
midmorning cease, the grey sky ascended
distant, moving east. we take an apple
boots and a notebook each
into the woods behind, knowing
post-rain Fall is written for the senses
the burnt patch from early Summer
starting to sprout barely, mostly blackened
inside acres of yellow; the knee high kind of grass, sharp
through clothes, the scrappy kind that looks beautiful
for about ten weeks a year
the burnt earth exposes rocks and its soilless quality
this is manzanita land, oaks and the determined pines
with creamy nuts if we do the work
the house that burnt, it’s garage levelled, a drill press;
will it work again? a garden gnome stares from inside
temporary fencing (not at us) lifeguarding the covered
in-ground pool
no trades have touched this place yet
the house next door burnt two years ago
and rebuilt from its event of kids and cigarettes
my kids always find the best sticks and compete
bulrushes in the awakening dry creek
are about to burst, like those they found last week
explosive, unstoppable, these aren’t quite ready
my middle boy shows us all pushing with a thumb
two ravens in a flurry from the greater pines
and a great brown owl with it’s bulk body
is all wingspan and pointy eared out of a flattened face
we chase them for an hour following the bird terror
around the valley, a hunt for a glimpse
of the great night creature, who lands and disappears
into pines or oak, found again by the two crafty ravens
who we thank for exposing the rare evening bird
a deep closing bluish-grey approaches
faster than my estimate to make it home on little legs
someone made
the rule: no one should have to school
on their birthday
it’s my birthday
and we do
the right thing
we school
for everyone
has to work
or study when the day falls
on a Wednesday
and why should it
be any different
for a homeschooling family
for I am to teach them
responsibility
and work ethic, I am
to teach them how
hard life is and how
hard they need to
we finish before midday
and go skating all afternoon
it is low tide
and the upside down
pelican is kissing
its own reality
graceful awkward
funk gullet
an insect-leaping mullet
wobble dreams
the scene
gone
it’s not always the little rusted spring
that slipped off the governor
on the mower I borrowed
mango moon
don’t go to sleep
I’m not finished with you
I haven’t posted in a while and found this among my haiku sketchings. Just something hot and sticky while I watch the mountains turn white here in Northern California.
I sit reading Snyder
on a cedar log skateboard
there’s a wattle tree
next to the river
I stand and go to it
to touch it’s yellow existence
and while i’m still stunned by it
being here in california
a man walking his dog asks
about the log skateboard
and I ask him about the wattle
he’s a landscaper
and doesn’t know the wattle’s name here
but knows there are very few
I tell him aboriginal tribes
favour the timber
for making boomerangs
and he asks again
about the cedar log
I made into a skateboard.
Walk your Skateboard!
Umm…
pardon?
Walk your board across the bridge!
I stop. Swap my ten month old daughter to my right arm
and kick the board to my other hand, call out
to my three sons on bikes to stop.
The uniform keeps walking but is looking back
knows I’m going to ask.
Sure. Umm bikes too?
No, bikes are fine.
Right, so, why must I
walk my skateboard
across this bridge?
It’s policy.
Yes, I’m sure it is.
Why, is it policy to walk my skateboard
across this bridge.
It’s policy.
I stare at him.
Then check that my three boys haven’t already
crossed the bridge to explore the trails on the other side.
I look back at him, swap my daughter to the other arm
and lean the skateboard against myself.
He drops his head, steps a little closer to reduce any scene.
The glass panels
get broken by skateboards.
Right, thanks. I guess
the skaters who are
ollieing yeah? The type
without a baby in their arms?
I turn and walk my board and daughter
across the bridge.
We enjoy the ducks below
with their butts
in the air.
after putting the bins out
on the road
I take my daughter in my arms
and walk the trails behind our place
because sunset
has activated
the birds
and she says Oooh
as our eyes track a large dragonfly
around the oak
high over our heads
a woman walks by
cute baby
and I must admit
she looks like one
who’d put her head down
don’t make eye contact
with anyone out here on the trails
but a bloke with a baby
in his arms
enjoying sunset
and the baby saying Oooh
at the birds
I’ve moved to northern California for a year or so. It’s been
a big move but my family and I love it. I’ll try to post some poems
and photos a bit more frequently but there’s just too much to do here!
Hope you’re very well, wherever you may be.Love always
Andrew Phillips
I’m painting the house
the wrong colour
just a smidge
too yellow-based myurrrk
instead of the blue-based green
I wanted
the next coat will cover it
but I’ve got to use up this 15 liters
and each brush stroke is deeply
unsatisfying
I look back at the last few hours
of weatherboard wall
wearing the wrong colour
I hand a pre-dawn pocket of coins over
her industrial estate face-for-the-boys
she’ll sell fifty of these paper wrapped breakfasts before 7
thinly sliced pig, fried chicken fetus on
finely-milled bleached wheat
yeast-mixed, overnight baked
and sliced
and soggy pan toasted
and sauced
and I wash it through me with
roasted-bean infused water
and feel human again
the koala tucked legs
of squirm disturbed sleep
and grasp clenched fist
each child I consider
shaving this chest
it just became more and more difficult
to wear the responsibility of skin. never a glance
down a barrel aimed with shot
yet this is the modern loaded gun; glances
packed with distance
and sure you’ve got a clip
full of questions
questions
this timber bench seat has been painted dozens of times – so much sitting – the grass isn’t worn into tracks – the concrete path is wide – you could drive tanks full of handshakes and smiles down there
sorry isn’t sorry
if it sits down afterwards
sympathy feels wet and dripping
yet you’ve gotta carry something over there
what is the average weight of an accidental condescending comment? nothing
weighed against an attempt plus forgiveness smile, which is a collaboration
between two
arms folded
looking down at the same spot of ground
standing in a park in south brisbane
another attempt
the dashboard dog
shakes its head
.
.
.
Haven’t written much in a while. Happy to be playing with this short form again.
.
for the Australian xi
given a ticket of leave from the aboriginal camp
west of Brisbane
on a chaperoned train ride to Adelaide
instructed to
there’s Jardine lying on the crease
holding his head
Eddie’s boomerang wrist from a short run
I reckon Eddie
would have been first
by his side
to make sure he was alright
the next ball
a scorching yorker
Eddie hiding from headlines of himself
on the train back to Cherbourg
///
with boom gate entrance
secluded eucalyptus
tables and seats
sit empty in the shade
the carpark full
all the paths lead to themselves
rough pebbled short and bendy
past a struggling bottle brush
butcherbird and magpie
on the same branch of the ironbark
eyeing off the lawn for supple grubs
.
I stroll in with a satchelful
of spoken-phrases
ink sympathy on A4
he reads out of his hand
held screen unpolished
smudged with struggle
she sings
through fumbled chords
a two hundred year ache
in her voice
.
.
a bruised face records the good shots
an inelegant swann spins from vulture street
I miss the hill – I don’t
miss the dog track – what happened
to Happy Jack?
we aussies sing in beautiful chorus
when the lyric includes ‘wanker’ – Broad is
conducting crowds in a deep square
the kid in front is seeing the beach ball
like fruit-flys
the umpire doesn’t have his eye in
the member’s haze on stanley is rich
boxes come in air-conditioned
or extremely humid
Section 14 Row T seat 7 is bellow
XXXX survives on event monopoly
slow motion replays reveal VB stepped on
toes over the border
the umpire called
‘bye’
It requires 6 x ten, nine, eight, seven, six,
five, four, three, two, one for a Mexican 2 pi R
white is a canvas
bowlers draw batsmen
holding the bat out
there’s a spot they missed
for advertising
Wooloon-cappemm (jagerra)
means place of swirling plastic beer cups
milk grog face
she sleeps in the inside of my elbow
like half in a hammock
in the other hand
the rattle of lego up the tube
I’ve never been
so domestic as right now
think I’ll go empty the fridge
of a beer
7 turns 8 and the new watch arrives. It’s water
resistant. We wait for a trickle past her knee.
4 might make it to 5 in a few weeks if he’d just Keep
your hands to yourself!
2 will probably wake early and shout
at the top of his voice that he’s 2
holding three fingers above his head.
Next week the eternal 10 weeks stops our heart
for the 6th time. 6! Where did 6 go?
0 is overdue by a week and a day. Batteries are low
in the remote and need charging if you want to fast-forward
from the floor. Ticked-off ticks off another
level of candy crush. A new record.
Eyes roll anti-clockwise.
pied hill prawns 