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Poetry Smörgåsbord

Assorted forms

Here is a selection of poetry from the archive I've amassed over the years.

The first is a series of haiku I wrote about and from within a McDonald's restaurant, on the wrapper of a cheeseburger I consumed during the same visit. 
 

Below is one of two free-verse poems published by Baby Teeth Journal.

Shy

 

There’s a gecko who lives in our compost

                                     sitting under the lid 

  nabbing the little 

                        flies 

                          that 

                      circle 

                there 

so numerous and tempting

 

She scurries away 

                hurriedly 

                when I open the bin 

                                                         shy 

not wanting to be a bother

   not wanting to be bothered.

 

Frog 1.png

This poem appeared in Edition 10.2 of the University of Queensland's biannual journal Jacaranda.

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Amongst it

 

I love walking through a city

below steam issuing from some unknown orifice

 

like she’s smoking a cigarette from upturned fingers

coy and Hepburnesque

or hanging limp from lip

all film-noir cavalier

 

like the metropolis just poured a coffee

to have with her morning paper

black as the smog speckling crowded buildings

 

like myself in younger days

on the way to school come winter

giggling at the sight of my own breath

billowing into the air

 

and honking horns

amid screeching tyres

are the haughty cackles of my friends

taunting each other

making games from the everyday

excited by life, unafraid

as long as we’re together

our visible, vaporous breaths proof:

We’re here

amongst it.

Sunscreen and Ketamine

 

Bumpy~waters

keys to leisure—

 

Relax and bury 

your n se 

     in 

   ^   ^

the sand

 

White-tipped    wwwwavessss 

      break                                

         carrying us 

                    from mundanity                    to tranquillity  

 

          Just mind 

          (the hole)                          ⇨          ajsncj¿vj@emk

        your digging;                               *nxjàsn&s3jcn#s

                               it’s easy                  qbspfgvm$ogkk  

                                 to go                               =b{

                               too deep…                  

 

 Put out

           a

           line

                

           Catch                                        Feed 

           some rays                           the gulls

                       

                       everyone needs a treat                          

                                    from

                                          time

                                       to

                                          time

This experimental poem appeared in  Melbourne-based journal Mantissa.

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Imagine yourself as a long aggregated slug of every you you've ever been or will be.

A prose-poem that appeared in the online publication Sent Folder, 'Slug Line' was a collaboration between myself and architect Belinda Smole, my text accompanied by her design. 

Slug Lines

Imagine yourself as a long aggregated slug of every you you’ve ever been or will be. Space and time exist on a singular plane. 

 

Every movement is saved—every triumph, every indiscretion, every inexplicable trip to the kitchen.

 

Like motion realised in a continual open-shutter, wherever you go the past goes with you, as the thread follows the spider. 

 

Every iteration of that Nokia 3310 snake of you remains. Meandering, running, circling, flittering—doubling back because you forgot to lock your car. 

 

Where does your trail bunch? Perhaps it bundles before the fridge, prone to snacking as you are. 

 

There are also moments and places in which your trail tangles with someone else’s—a friend, a lover, or even a kelpie cross cattle dog. 

 

Where, by contrast, does the thread run thin? Maybe there are places where scant little can be found, places you anxiously avoid, like dental practices.


What does all this, your recorded ongoing trajectory, that silvery snail trail, say about you?

Somewhere between sci-fi poetry and flash fiction, this piece appeared in Creature Magazine. 

Barter in the Forthcoming Wasteland

Today I sold something that used to be called an iPhone. 

But I call it a Hen-Wizard.

I reverse-engineered it in my shack from foraged junk. 

The person I sold it to asked what it was for. 

They were unimpressed by the ability to take 

what was once called a photograph.

But they liked the ‘Maps’ function, 

even though ‘Sydney’ meant nothing to them;

the pattern it made was pretty and sparked their curiosity.

I traded the Hen-Wizard for a handful of their dried beans; Adzuki. 

They were reluctant to give me a full fist.

But I persuaded them to part with some that were off-coloured.

Wait until they figure out how janky the Hen-Wizard is 

when they accept suggested updates!

No taksies backsies. 

As the smog-shrouded sun sets 

on the poisoned landscape of former, so-called Sydney,

I stir my pot of simmering Adzuki beans 

with a smile. 

Sydney Dystopia.jpeg
issue+3+thread+poster.png

'Space, Time, Continuum' appeared in Issue 3 of Riverstone Journal: Thread.

It's too long to feature here, but you can enjoy it on their website

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