Just

July 6, 2010 at 4:21 pm | Posted in australian poetry, contemporary poetry, memoirs, poetry, writing | 9 Comments
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walking to West End from Stafford
in a cycle of recrimination and
justification a church sign plastic
letters clipped
neatly
‘to avoid criticism
say nothing
do nothing
be no-one’

hours later a strange misplaced nostalgia
at the sound of a Scottish Marching Band
as it escaped the shadow of the Big Wheel
with a bass drum ponder call to attention
and the rattle of steel carefully orchestrated

On the Art Gallery wall -
‘It’s between representation and the other thing,
whatever that is,
and it’s difficult to keep one’s balance.’
Ian Fairweather, 1963
the year I was born
coincidentally like the young
man’s soft nervous trilling triplets
before the march began, loosening his wrists and
thinking about the architecture of sound.

Lastly the river
a breeze not even birdsong
accompanying me
just the sun dancing
silver sparkling
from the water,
literally
a memory of stars.

My Dear F.,

July 4, 2010 at 8:34 am | Posted in jazz poetry, poetry, writing | 5 Comments
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Just a short note to let you know
the vicar’s visit turned out something
but not quite as expected
there is something quite uncouth
in these villagers.

Still, better,
than a nunnery.

Your handiwork continues to inspire
but I must say not quite
what you promised, the antidote,
does not work. Please send more tao
haha, these strange realms sterile and
the portraits looming, and all these damn
petticoats. Anyway, have fun. I’m not.

eden

July 3, 2010 at 5:06 pm | Posted in jazz poetry, sheer selfindulgence, writing | 5 Comments
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… a reality whose connection to the actual world of the imagining reader is tenuous at best. The truth becomes gloriously irrelevant, postulations on orchids,

How old fashioned thinks the vicar, louche on Ms Helpburn’s divan. Now we are in the post-Victorian in which all is quaint decoration and pop but he remains tightlipped on the outside of whatever’s slightly outre.  Rain, he suggests aloud as she pours his tea, and struggles to find a tiny niche in which to survive like some strange insect. Happy for the shelter of a waxy leaf from which water drips, snoozing through the day with a low buzz which may just be tired lungs and excessive humidity,

She sits, decorously, Vicar, it is such a wonderful word, don’t you think. Sorry, he says, I was just looking at your garden, so gentle and pretty in the afternoon rain, Ms Helpburn. Do you have a gardener?

Soraya

July 1, 2010 at 7:45 pm | Posted in memoirs, sheer selfindulgence, writing | 7 Comments
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Soraya’s new toy came in a lovely package. There really are no other words to describe it, nor are any necessary. I wanted to write something that I had never written before, new adventures as it were, but only those two sentences came to me before I was rudely interrupted by a brusque knocking at the door. It was the debt collectors. They had come for the previous resident but one of them recognized me from the club. They saw the open bottle of whiskey on the table and it turned into a bit of a session.

Half way through and quite pissed, I told them of my plan to write pornography but from a female perspective as a kind of challenge and see if I could get away with it. One of them wanted to back the project and the other said it was disgusting and left disgruntled. I doubt I will ever be able to look him in the face again. Still, that is the price you pay as a writer. There is always a certain risk involved or you are not doing your job properly.

The next morning I woke up on the beach, alone, and wearing my four hundred dollar Hong Kong suit, covered in sand, the occasional small crab exploring my hair. I remembered the plan and thought about Soraya, how much trouble she would get in to, and how little chance of surviving it she would have. Went back to the motel and wrote this instead.

The Puzzle Box (2nd Edition)

June 24, 2010 at 3:34 pm | Posted in australian poetry, poetry, writing | 4 Comments
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I would like to take a moment to introduce “The Puzzle Box” 2nd Edition. I was never really happy with the layout and presentation of the first edition, it had a very ‘first edition’ feel. So I employed (and at very reasonable rates I should add) the services of an experienced freelance editor, the inestimable Kiersty Boon. The book is now completely typo free, it has an index, acknowledgements, new font, a stylish cover, frontispiece, is perfect bound and is, in every way, new and improved.

Importantly, the first edition has now been removed from sale, so if you own a copy of it, you are in possession of a rare and valuable asset. However, with the second edition and the application of the incredible style and precision of Ms Boon’s editing expertise, I finally feel that the frame enhances and accentuates the work. If you are preparing a manuscript, a skillful and independent eye is an absolute necessity and I do not hesitate in recommending Kiersty’s services as an editor to all and sundry.

There are many ways of supporting the gentle art of poetry but none more effective and realistic than buying the work of the poets. Please consider this small investment, I guarantee you will not be disappointed.

liberation

June 22, 2010 at 3:46 pm | Posted in ekphrasia, poetry, writing | 9 Comments
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would that it were possible
to write pure instrumental lines
an imperceptible dissolution
into a henry moore shaped whole
like grass pondering dandelions
or two children holding hands
light variations
to untie the sublime from this humanness
of language, the moral, the spirit,
tethers which dull the glisten
of wordless beauty vaulting
the harmonic between open sky
and the softness of skin,

faith is not required

June 5, 2010 at 7:54 am | Posted in poetry, writing | 18 Comments
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between the it is (always) dark(est just
before the (dawn) of her
blink andthe
busyness bustle of
mind the day
there’s an infinitesimal
time the sky
,exact

blue
shade of smiling
eyes

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