October 23, 2012
For the mornings after, yet to come
The comedic and the tragic, the curve sailing up into smile
or diving into frown; how clearly Greeks marked their rites,
their brief glimpse of the sacred. Human weakness and wiles
jammed behind leather grins, masks held by thongs tied tight
behind the ears. But when bodies can be jigged and changed
like shoes, like coloured hair, when man’s quick shifting
puts chameleons to shame, what of this new deranged
play of holy tricks and mundane lies, souls drifting
in opalescent truths, foxing smells and opaque looks?
I met a rogue, and thought him a little rough, a little hard,
and took him home, and let him take. So much he took
from what I then called me. Pink lotus girl with palest hands
awoke in his stead, and I became that all too famous swan,
draped with skin of goat. I kissed the now transfigured man.
Press for added poetry.
July 11, 2011
Spiky camel hump, buried in sand.
Alien artichoke, Martian’s lunch.
I’m told to admire your
‘architectural qualities’. As if
we build houses of needles,
like one of those three little pigs
gone crazy, his brain curling,
dizzy, to match pale gimlet tail.
could blow you down?
Crooked eyes only, crave cacti.
Yet, every few years, you explode
into a neon gown of Brazilian hues
pulsating, pink or gold, as at Mardi Gras.
When poor become princes,
and thin desert blooms.
Just published in The Mozzie, Queensland