Oh Mother Earth, kiss my cheek wi… you alone belong to yourself while… Preserve us from the evil plans th… puncture your heart and anger your… Oh Mother Earth, keep us at one w…
When I saw your body cold I was cold with you. When you left I sought my own kind and found none
My son’s cleaning up his room and I’m not really glad. He’s cleaning up his room and it’s raining clothes and crock… The washer’s running amok, the dis…
Fay Zwicky wrote in her journal o… “I see the poet as a seismograph o… I had considered more arcane expre… over the years, such as the poet a… but I rather prefer to think of my…
This is not an elegy and, no trick of the light, no jammed shut door, no rancid rhetoric or sleight of hand
I’d like to write a poem that’s a swimming pool, or even a wading pool would do. I’d have the sun shine on the firs… and Spring overwhelm the stanza.
Australian summers are hot, even into the night sometimes, and this night at the Family Inn was one of them, soaking shirts t… Some barely remembered Aussie ba…
Grendel is throwing chairs around on the deck of the soon to be sink… Nobody really knows how Grendel g… and slipped himself in to replace… Nobody knew he’d be in charge when
Rise If I were fully human I could come to you in the dark as I do in the light, I could smile fearlessly in the st…
Manufactured from a million ill-fitting participles blinking the [abort] light of syntax error overload, I am that demon
When I make an inappropriate comm… she would raise her eyebrows, and… at me, as a silent chastisement. Donald J Trump, Scott Morrison a… meet in an obscure coffee shop in…
I saw that last picture of you, st… the infamous bunker. It was a blur… that seemed right for the moment,… it seemed now pointless and old, a… You looked over the wreckage broug…
If I Could Have a Birthday Wish Envelopes with gaudily printed car… meaningless mass-produced wishes, cheques to fly to the momentary mo… Books instead of love
I am finding I am going home if I haven’t in some measure found the landing port that is in sight of my true and original self
Pumping water. Motor sounds across the drying river. Rustic images of a cottage with no town water