Within this mist we could be anywhere: A grassy knoll sits where the freeway Meets the the Bridge; the air is frozen today And the smell of Vegemite hangs in the air. Chimneys puff in protest or in vapour prayer; The sky in its veil has nothing to say, But my father’s taught me inContinue reading “Stillness and Flight”
Author Archives: Matthew Pullar
Birthday Song (Apologies to Sylvia Plath)
Today would have been the 95th birthday of my maternal grandfather who passed away nearly nine years ago: a man who influenced me and my writing more than one poem can express. Still, I couldn’t let the day pass without acknowledging it in some way, especially while I’m in the midst of writing about myContinue reading “Birthday Song (Apologies to Sylvia Plath)”
Memory in Rain
Essendon is drenched today. On Albion And Buckley where my Granddad learnt to walk, To talk, lies last night’s deluge in puddles, In screen of watery sheen, while vermillion Morning climbs the eastern sky. When we talk Of heritage, does it sit in huddles Like these? old buildings nestled in new ones And the streetsContinue reading “Memory in Rain”
Mind and Soil
As part of my new writing project, My Family and Other Landscapes, I’m setting myself the challenge of writing one sonnet each day for the next few months. I won’t post all of them here, but I’ll make semi-regular updates and select the best to put together a book from them. Here is today’s effort.Continue reading “Mind and Soil”
Debt
Acknowledgment sounds with our morning yawn: We have been in need; we have been held safe. And the quiet of the dawn routine declares That we are weak, are strangers to this day. Awaken slowly. Infants in the world, What will you do now? Fresh from the night’s grace, Will you shake your horn’s fistContinue reading “Debt”
My childhood with Sting
Well, he once rhymed “cough” with “Nabakov” and poetically asked, “Hey Mr Brontosaurus, have you got a lesson for us?” And now Sting has unknowingly inspired my latest writing project. The inspiration came via this TED Talk and interview he did in 2014 about how he overcame writer’s block. What was Sting’s answer to hisContinue reading “My childhood with Sting”
Home
It snowed the week I was born; my brother and sister, fresh from Sydney, harvested July joy with tingling fingers, gathered what they could in eager clumps and pressed it like ice cream into a punnet, to freeze and store for future days. Being born late I missed the fun, but days of ten degreesContinue reading “Home”
Other Places #1: Beginnings of a new project
Ding the lights of the level crossing red; The common man is held at standstill now. He measures plight in traffic lights and how Great the cost to take the Bridge instead. The day is long but time spent here is dead, Growing only lines on furrowed brow. I will not kneel to son ofContinue reading “Other Places #1: Beginnings of a new project”
Haven’t You Heard?
Some will sit as though nothing’s new, staring at the constant sky. I confess that I’ve done so too and held the lie. Some will wait for what does not come and think that waiting is divine. Some will fall and some will run until the time. Yet in the terminal of souls a voiceContinue reading “Haven’t You Heard?”
Quo Vadis?
We could not see the top of this wall – but now that we’ve scaled it, what lies before? A dream of tomorrow? A promise of now? The moment is furrowed on destiny’s brow. No sureness of footing, yet held for the fall; the wall is beneath us – what now?
The Consolations of Writing 