Wednesday, November 28, 2012


I pick this topic at random
my mind circling without
movement forward or back.

Where is my hub, the magical
spokes, leading to new knowledge
or connections, a completion?

There have been so many
turnings. Chariots and drays,
fast cars, inept ships' wheels.

Horses in shafts, pacing. 
Aeroplanes uplifted and landing
on tyres carrying hundreds of tonnes.

The wheels of industry, their
sprocketed croakings, magical
connections. Mills and wind.

Imagine the planet where
revolution is unnecessary,
never considered useful.

Where movement is propelled
forward or back in pendulum style
a perpetual swinging, connecting.

Wrenched from soil
sheaves of seed, a grass
taller than this
grown woman.

Small birds have
harvested these, causing
the stalks to bow
and break.

I made it easy, laying
the sheaves pulled
from easy earth
on brick paving.

Small birds gathered
twittering and uttering
frugal cautions.
Nothing wasted

but my breath.
So much more to be
gathered. Let go of majesty
over garden, again.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012


Is a box of sheet protectors
a collection? How many 
of anything do I need
to qualify?

Three tortoises: one
ceramic, one pottery,
one beaded. Is that

Small wooden animals,
figurines from Asia
representing female
musicianship - bakelite
and old plastic boxes
my father left behind,
Is there no end to

I walk through my house
seeing out the corner of eye
hearing at edge of hearing
a world where value
is in simply existing.

The stalls gleam with desire.
It is impossible to walk fast
through this harem, where
1950's crockery says kiss me
kiss me I have waited all day
for you to come home.

Even the stones shoot your
resolve with crystalline precision.
The humble smooth river-stone
is as working class to lord here.
As for the tin-work and toys
once used by children of leisure!

Yes, it is a Sunday outing to test
a commitment to no clutter.
But you pick up one enamelled
snuff box and you are lost.
At home, you realise how little
of the treasured item you have,



The leaf smiles at me
rosy, curved, alone.
I pick it up. The smile
does not diminish.
Shall I take you home
sweet grinning leaf?
Or leave you to rot
on the newly mulched bed?
I got halfway through the month and just couldn't be bothered. I guess I have bigger projects I've given my word to. I had staggered on by choosing random topics from the MacQuarie Dictionary when Poetic Asides prompts became too enervating. Tonight, I reviewed the topics suggested lately and felt a nip of interest.

I think now I could tackle another 16.

Friday, November 16, 2012

November Poem-A-Day Challenge

Day 14

prompt: classical

To Be Human

We, ourselves, are
a classical design.
Physically imposing
hairless where naked,
spreading across
the planet like
fungi or vermin.

Hundreds of generations
have perfected the art
of being human, our
adaptations are admired,
our colonisations
taken for granted
as a kind of superior
talent. Meanwhile

those Ionic columns
look less and less
imposing, the grains
of classical marble
crunching under heavy
tourist & conqueror feet.
Erosion, the mightiest
force in this kingdom.

Day 15

prompt: palm off with


your lies in 
the palm of this
hand appear as
millipedes on
a sandy path

coiled, belief
in sovereignty
has you look
straight ahead
into my eyes

the final  lie 
grasped and
pocketed as if
never spoken

Day 16

prompt: footloose

Fancy! Free!

As a poet I practised
being footloose, wrist-limp,
mind silent. As a mother
I stood still, steady with
a helping hand, babbling
in concert with words
becoming more and more
recognisable. Until,
as a poet, I could write
the footloose mindless
freehand joy of raising
a vocal majority.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

November Poem-A-Day Challenge

Day 7

prompt: medium


It was rare, yet tasted
medium. At least 
the vegetables were
well-done! I felt
my newly reconstructed
tooth being jarred
against jawbone.
Replete, I savour
the aftertaste of blood
the less metallic
film of starch and
chlorophyll on tongue
the absence
of starvation.

November Poem-A-Day Challenge

Day 8


Inquiry Beyond ...

How this works is
you switch yourself on
turn the torch on others
study the terrain
you always thought foreign
as if it is your own.
Then go for a walk.
Imagine not being yourself.
What does that make possible?

November Poem-A-Day Challenge

Day 9

prompt: co-ordination


He suggests I follow
his upright finger as it moves
left to right, right to left.
My eyes hunger for
its stillness, its precise
location in space.
"This is all to do with
balance," he says, "often
affected by the ears."
My eyes stretch wide open
listening to what
my ringing ears cannot see.

November Poem-A-Day Challenge

Day 10

prompt: seedy

Eulogy for a Garden

Well that describes my garden
in a nutshell, or should I say
a seedhead on grasses that
wave as I pass? 

Up front her bosom is tatty, 
Out the back, tall trees bow
with respect, awe, or wonder.

Mere sparrows have been known

to practise acrobatic skills
on those wand-like expressions
of vegetative life.

I drag the bin full of rotting
weeds to the verge, thankful
someone loves emptiness
as much as I do.

November Poem-A-Day Challenge

Day 11



I am thinking Sunday
a perfect day for
saintly activity: work,
devotion, faith, love.

I will bring beauty
forth, gently untangle
it from twisted trunks
and soil unkempt.

There will be a purity
arising from disturbance,
change, the upsetting
disappearance of familiars.

And I will chase all
CATS with a three-pronged
fork and the conviction
of righteousness.

November Poem-A-Day Challenge

Day 12

prompt: mackerel

Today, a mackerel sky,
or patch of scale and fin
at least. All around, a sea
azure, serene, without
net or boat or hunter
or triumphant shout.
Just peace, drifting.

November Poem-A-Day Challenge

Day 13

prompt: stamp


This word is emphatic
while creating patterns
on paper or fabric and
making a foot move
with unusual energy.
It sends letters and
seals them, impressing
while it encourages
flight and lightness.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

November Poem-A-Day Challenge

Day 6

prompt: 2 for Tuesday: a left poem, a right poem


I love the word "left"
when it is companion
to other words like
"field" and "hand"
or even more closely
tied to "overs" and
"wards". What a
chummy socialist
left-leaning word!
There are some
lefties left then.

But: "right!" Righteous,
and right-thinking
remind me of committees
board meetings, so
rightful so downright
upright, right?

Time to exercise
my rights:Righto!
A chummy democrat?
Too right, mate! Right-on!

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

November Poem-A-Day Challenge

Day 5

prompt: a text poem

What time will u be home?

On train now. In at 6.

Want me 2 pick u up?

Yes pls Mum. xxx

C u soon.

(smiley face)

Monday, November 5, 2012

November Poem-A-Day Challenge

Day 4

prompt: "Just beneath ..."

Worm Food

Just beneath
this carpet
there is concrete
below that sand
laced with killing.
Claiming the land
silencing it.

Everywhere else
between the fences
the land speaks.
Just beneath
the vigorous growth
a guerilla army
claiming the land
breaking it.

The sheep-trodden clay
begins to breathe
easily, surrendering
to the perpetual
of ants, earwigs,
beetles, spiders,

Just beneath
that knowledge
there is a hunger
no food can

November Poem-A-Day Challenge

Day 3

prompt: a poem that scares you

darkness. No

Saturday, November 3, 2012

November Poem-A-Day Challenge

Day 2

prompt: "full moon"

The Sky Being A Bland Bumpy Sea of Cloud ...

I am sure you will earn a plethora
of accolade; your round face
turning the tide of opinion,
unscarred by our clumsy footfall
the way we think of you as
stepping stone to the stars
and beyond. I am sure your
partnership with the sun, its
star-magnetism, deflates you
not one jot. If you were to visit
tonight, though, you would be
by cloud -  something more
down-to-earth for you to
turn the other cheek to, and
a barrier to admiration you
couldn't care less about, being

Friday, November 2, 2012

November Poem-A-Day Challenge

Day 1

prompt: "matches"

From my Writer's Window

All day, the word strikes small flames
but no fire takes hold, to inspire or
to smoke out Virginia's angel of creativity. 
I follow the flight paths of fledgling golden
honeyeaters, and joy flickers, consumes.
Who needs matches when the loquat tree
offers a feast, and bottle brushes inflame?
Even the pink native blossoms offer
a view so inflammatory the back yard
translates into burning questions about life.