October 5, 2015
Today I edited the hub at Tuesday Poem, based in New Zeland, and posted a fascinating prose poem called ‘Before’ by Janette Pieloor. Read Janette’s poem by pressing here.
September 18, 2015
This photo of one of Australia’s rarer floral symbols was taken at O’Connor Ridge. I also saw a cat trying to eat a rabbit. There were parrots, but the cartree sticks in my mind. Perhaps a whole new car will regenerate?
I have to link to a great poem by SK Kelen about O’Connor Ridge, which seems to attract poets like car parts and other ferals.
September 15, 2015
There was a young lim’rick called Brian,
Whose rhyming was most far from fine:
Critics laughed and then pointed
And said ‘He’s disjointed!’
Which hurt the young lim’rick called Brian.
Those who think I should hang my head in shame do not know me very well. I will take play over dry reflection any day. Also, there was an excellent limerick feature in a recent issue of Poetry (the gorgeous one from Chicago) by Anthony Madrid, and who am I to argue with that?
Next week, however, I promise to be more serious, as befits one who is web-linked to other poets.* Read the works of the other Tuesday Poets around the world by pressing here.
*That is a promise in the same sense that a politician promises to stick to policies. A politician is a politician, however well he or she wears a suit. Australia’s new PM has the most lovely suits.
September 7, 2015
Confetti throws handfuls of self
against ecstatic sky
cheering its union with blue.
This is no watercolour plant.
Each bubble blown is distinct
a life born from Winter’s death.
I look at the tree and see God, hear
a choir of yellow lungs, inflated.
But then again, I’m not allergic.
I will avoid any puns using the word spring in this post, however hard that is for me. Tonight (Tuesday) I’m reading at The Gods on the ANU campus (a short distance form the Australian National Botanic Gardens, where I photographed the wattle), with Melinda Smith and Owen Bullock. I am reading mostly new material. I am finding it easy to write at the moment, which has to be a Good Thing. I just hope that it’s not a sudden blaze, fading as quickly as a wattle.
Good to see that I am keeping my glorious pessimism well watered! It’s like a wattle, but beige, and it smells a bit like very well used socks.