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
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
looking down at the same spot of ground
standing in a park in south brisbane
(inspired from David Stavanger @readerinres ‘ashes’)
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
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
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
means place of swirling plastic beer cups
for Matt Reid
& for Nathan Damianopoulos
you wake from vineyards
of keith jarrett
slow-drip through veins
it’s a morning that promised thunder full of broken
and a new promise; you can pour
if you want the money
first touch of shovel is heavy
across a ribbed tray the six thirty sun wincing grapefruit eyes
the diesel engine
before it turns
into the street
your screed levels the first steps of a new family
sun’s hand on your back you are papery
notes of sand pungent soapy lime you forgot to swipe
underarm fruity lactic wipe a nose
across your shoulder a cedar blend
of Barossa Adelaide hills and a dusty
mushroom across your neck
when you wash
the wood float
it is furry
My friend Chris Lynch is heading to PNG for The Crocodile Prizes, PNG’s literary awards. He wants to take as much poetry as he can to hand out to writers who don’t have access to contemporary literature.
If you’re heading to Speedpoets tomorrow at the Brisbane Writer’s Festival, bring along some books, journals or zines you no longer read. Here’s the Facebook link for more info. And a couple of other ways you can help out our northern island friends. Poetry for PNG
Get on board!
(I have five licenses for bad puns)
a million things
on in Brisbane right now. this
Brisbane Fringe Festival is in it’s second year. I really wanted to perform some poems on this river of ours. Partly to interact with the river in a different way, partly because it devastated us not so long ago and I want to learn how to love it again and also maybe just because we can get in a tinny and read some poetry (and that can be fun). If you’re interested… I’d love you to be there.
It’s this Friday night.
Two sessions – 6pm and 8pm.
Get a ticket – 6pm session
Get a ticket – 8pm session
or reserve a seat here: Brisbane Fringe Festival – Riverwords. and here
is a poem I’ll read on Friday night (first published in fourW magazine 2012)
In need of a poem
of river can’t be
Thoughts seep into the carpet.
I want the nose of the knee-deep
throwing wet bags of stand back.
They bulldoze novels into a council pile of lounge chairs.
In need of a poem that’ll break the silence
with the river we loved, point out
we are still deeply in love, but don’t
know how. Like Grammar girls first time
back, stroking 5am oars.
Because it drifts past like a dog at the back
what it did on the carpet.
In need of a poem
so I asked some buddies, who
shared their river.
Facebook Event: Riverwords
If anyone finds me in a park
dribbling metaphors in compass directions
lap full of new books
and muttering how council workers enjambed
the hedge too much like a map of canada
would you kindly
wipe my chin with melalueca bark
explain to the officer
about the poetry festival on the weekend
and let me return to society another day.
Even if you don’t usually go to poetry events
but wonder what-the-metaphor
goes on at them.
It’s free. It’s in Brisbane. It’s this weekend. Great venue.
There will be words that’ll bounce in your heads for weeks.
International Australian & Local poets. GO!
Spoken In One Strange Word Program