it’s not always the little rusted spring
that slipped off the governor
on the mower I borrowed
Tag Archives: Andrew Phillips
A warm winter’s bank
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.
Regulations
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.
thinking Queensland (while in California)
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.
off colour
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
too much early
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
(g)rug
the koala tucked legs
of squirm disturbed sleep
and grasp clenched fist
each child I consider
shaving this chest
to walk over there
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
senryu #P
another attempt
the dashboard dog
shakes its head
.
.
.
Haven’t written much in a while. Happy to be playing with this short form again.
Ashes
(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
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
domestic
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
skin is drum tight and has no rhythm
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.
Swirling concrete
for Matt Reid
& for Nathan Damianopoulos
1.
you wake from vineyards
the improvised
fingers
of keith jarrett
off beat
grapes
slow-drip through veins
it’s a morning that promised thunder full of broken
clouds
and a new promise; you can pour
a house
if you want the money
2.
first touch of shovel is heavy
on ears
across a ribbed tray the six thirty sun wincing grapefruit eyes
wait
for conctete
the diesel engine
before it turns
into the street
3.
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
haiku
green crayon
this haiku
is non-toxic
.
pregnant wife
I can’t hide
my breath
.
under the bridge
how something grows in the cracks
of this heart
.
.
.
hi koo I sen’ you
saturday jacarandas
line up for the tour bus
twenty-one tongues
groove words in old queensland
floorboards
today is wind
coffee prices
need picking up
there are there there are
a million things
on in Brisbane right now. this
is one
shameless self-promotion
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.
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
Fingernails full
of river can’t be
explained.
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
fence wondering
what it did on the carpet.
In need of a poem
so I asked some buddies, who
shared their river.
Winter Ginko: City Botanic Gardens
Graham Nunn (Another Lost Shark) led us on a ginko (a haiku walk) on Sunday. Here are some of the local Brisbane poets and our haiku here:
Winter Ginko: City Botanic Gardens.
unfolding you
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
you place you on top of the aeroplane pile
big-eyes, arms-out, standing on grass
it’s for me.
I pick you up and crease you with my thumb
cross your arms
turn your eyes over
and press your head into the table
when it’s almost complete
for test-flight hand over
you dissolve into sobs.
take gulpfuls to unfold your words.
I have no idea what I’ve done.
.
for Nogsy
Letter.Box.Stamp.Collect. & Meanjin
Check out this installation from the totally wonderful Pascalle Burton: Letter.Box.Stamp.Collect. There are circular poems from feature poets that Pascalle has made into stamps (these will be at QPF in August) meanwhile other poets are interacting with the project online with their own circular poems. Mine is here: Circular Poetry Contributor: Andrew Phillips.
In other news, my piece ‘Cooee’ is published in the current Meanjin Vol 72. I can’t tell you how stoked I am to be in such a beautiful and well read publication. 
I’m one super stoked prawn.
friar bird (haiku)
.
a friar bird in the banksia
on her phone again
.
.
.
.
For those not familiar with the friar bird’s chatter here ’tis:
pied hill prawns 