Poetry Blogs (2019, purpose)
The old man sat on the terrace his eyes closed. The throbbing purr of the mini-digger sounded like some very large, contented lion. Rob the driver was telling Jake the plumber, who was in the trench, to saw through the large root from the acacia tree that was stopping the digger scooping out more trench. The old man opened his eyes and saw his friend Dave, owner of terrace and trench, holding out ...
Tuesday 6th August 2019 5:24 pm
My car stands motionless in the drive-way
but I still don't have my licence
That guitar stays propped against its amp
but I don't know a single chord
and my lover, she lies there in the bedroom
My chess set collects dust in the fire grate
but I don't know what the rules are
That fishing rod looms above the bait box
but I don't have the technique
and my lover, she lies there in t...
Saturday 22nd June 2019 12:35 pm
Too much reality
can burn a hole
through your soul.
I prefer to temper it
with rose colored glasses,
as you know.
With my glasses on
I can see past the ego
to the wounds at
I can see that the
past, present, and
future are all
created for one purpose
to tell the story
of how we want to
show up in this world.
I can see beyond
Wednesday 23rd January 2019 3:08 pm
An explosion beyond comprehension sent all
The ingredients of the cosmos careening through the void.
Light, matter, and energy diffused chaotically,
Taking billions of years (as we now know them)
To fall into some kind of order, to establish
Some vaguely predictable interactions of
Cosmic proportion. Somehow, trillions of
Particles began to cooperate to form
Molecules of ca...
Thursday 17th January 2019 11:13 am
Live life today,
Like there's no tomorrow,
So forget about the pain,
And embrace the sorrow,
Life is a struggle,
That we all go through,
Searching for deeper meaning,
And contemplating whats true,
Beauty and complexity,
A trip through the divine,
It can't be mere coincidence,
It was done by design,
At first we are taught this is it,
The material is all that's there,
Then what is my p...
Tuesday 15th January 2019 5:54 am
This piece comes from an exhibition of the work of celebrated Australian artist and sculptor Brett Whiteley. Parts of his enormous masterwork "Alchemy" can be found on the cover artwork of Dire Straits' album of the same name. A long-term drug user, he died in 1992 from a heroin overdose.
A metaphor for clear technique,
the Gallery (patrolled, secure,
Tuesday 9th January 2018 7:28 am
Let not distraction keep you!
When The Drama of the perfume Fades
The Tossing Tousled hair parades
Settle in a lazy muse and the moon no longer lingers,
When the mystery seems tired as the night turns day,
The conversation feels hired as the wine wears away,
When reality strings together like a cellists’ tune,
Awaking your longing for a richer room
Be the see...
Saturday 20th May 2017 10:21 am
A noun all alone in the white open space is at risk,
if it doesn't know its own definition or purpose.
Without knowing its identity, this noun may search for a verb.
Once it finds this verb, it may begin to become active.
After it is active, it may come to dwell upon passive.
Should this be the case, it may call itself just a subordinate clause.
Still without the sense of cause, ...
Saturday 22nd November 2014 9:23 pm
She, born of the forge and cast from the pyre,
The fire of her birth soon vanished to iron,
Cold and lifeless, but still with a purpose
And then, from the worthless womb of coals
Her sisters, countless in their tumble
Collide and stumble to the four corners
Of the earth. Rapidly consumed
Exhumed for a thousand years
Or perhaps two…
Here she, in the wood of the pu...
Wednesday 9th October 2013 3:09 pm