Yes, it takes our freedomsbecause sometimes love does that:for neighbour, for stranger,for one who walks the same streets,walks by your desk,shops where you shop,shares the same air.Sometimes love lays downrights – freedom of movement,freedom of assembly,freedom to smile and have others see -because sometimes love judgesthe more needful thing,the truer way to be free.
Category Archives: Poetry
Birthday Gifts
My eldest gathers an ecosystem of treasureslike a store of botanical specimens for the apocalypse, ora nest for lockdown hibernation.And I, wandering with him and his brothers,viewing the world like they do, at ground level or just above,begin to spy jungles, mini-forests, whole worlds,grooves and knots, stalactites of sap,and breathe Thankyou with the air thatContinue reading “Birthday Gifts”
Tidings
Listen: the almond has something white to announce…(Chris Wallace-Crabbe)Tiny white heralds like angels burstfrom coronawinter barren branch,whispering, echoing, promising.Listen:The time is slow but gives glimpses.The promise is faintbut continual.The season’s sure that waits in the whispers.Truer than winter, truer than spring:the eternal soon.
Frontline (For the pandemic teachers)
Check temperature before you leave;Second guess that winter sniffle.Hand-sanitiser with your markers,Enter the ever-shifting classroom space.Greet the students in masks.Watch attendance, but don’t be afraid.Be calm. Reassure. You may mention the warBut know how to read the faces before you.Keep life normalWhen nothing is normal.Plan.(Nothing will go to plan.)Admit when you are not okayBut faceContinue reading “Frontline (For the pandemic teachers)”
Quarantine Morning
What the day brings is anyone’s guess:Students in masks, temperature checks at the front gate,But what else? Prognoses and rules change by the minute;What yesterday was harmless today may destroy.Brave new day that has such features in it.And so, the day lying openLike a box, like a question,I rejoice to see vermilion horizonThat smiles onContinue reading “Quarantine Morning”
And who is my neighbour? Part 3
Being a neighbour is fraught at any time, but in a time when suburbs, states and families are being isolated from one another, it is even harder. As an Australian, being part of an island nation has much impact on how we view our own place in the world, and in this time of remindingContinue reading “And who is my neighbour? Part 3”
In Our Father’s House
I wrote this poem yesterday for the third installment in a series of videos about being a neighbour. As I wrote, I was contemplating the prospect of my Melbourne suburb being the next to go into lockdown. Little did I know that today the whole city would be put back into lockdown. So I’m postingContinue reading “In Our Father’s House”
Conversation with my son
At the sink he perchesatop his two-stepped seat to watcha morning routine that’s utterprose for me, discovery for him:how I wetthe shaving brush, lather soap,then smooth the jawlineof my beard, and howI brush my teeth withoutprotest, without needingto eat the toothpaste with each brush.And then how I openthe mirrored cabinet and takemy pill-cutter, splitEscitalopram inContinue reading “Conversation with my son”
Les Feuilles Mortes update
It’s been a big month here. The month started with the digital launch of Les Feuilles Mortes and since then I’ve been busy making videos based around the poems, including an exciting collaboration with musicians Young Weather and Asher Graieg-Morrison. You can see the two video collaborations here. And the latest is that the bookContinue reading “Les Feuilles Mortes update”
Werribee Dragonfruit
Strange to be flourishing so far afield;its home is equatorial, tropical,not here, among suburban paddocks,with a straight line down to Antarctica.Yet, while silver birch weepsand quince decks boggy ground with its midwinter yellow,this Malaysian friend greets me withloud, audacious pink,asserting its brilliant right to exist,here, far from home:fruitless, pointless,its only purpose to be,to glory, andContinue reading “Werribee Dragonfruit”
The Consolations of Writing 