Eyes of love

Eyes of love wept
At the glance not intended
For the bedroom door
Had she dared
Touch her heart’s
Need for intimacy
Something dark


Somewhere there is love

Somewhere there is love
it burns when I get too close
so I watch it from afar
all those imperfections
come back to haunt me
in the morning mirror
in the dark of night

A drop of saline fluid

A drop of saline fluid – free from deception – lasts forever;
It won’t corrode your heart of copper alloy,
It won’t erode the monument erected in your memory;
You may go now, where each drop that falls dies.


I watch a sylvan love scene
playing out under the trees
while jealousy tears at my heart,
his hand on that soft cheek
that so easily let mine go,
leaving it sunburnt, arid,
where poetry and passion
now only cold, hard words;
instead of hymneal magic,
distorted colours fill my eyes,
clinging to a forlorn hope;
before that acid
ate through my heart
and left me bitter,
piercing deeper than my soul
could withstand, it crushed
the music within me;
all unravels, as I watch her,
once my lover
sitting in his lap,
the blade heavy in my hand.

Waves on a silent shore

Waves on a silent shore
Wash sad thoughts upon the sand
Of sorrow; a prayer composed
By nature, footprints reveal
Where we once walked –
But now there is silence.

Blue water swells on the shore,
Mermaid’s hair tossed over her shoulder,
Silken tresses, adorned with beauty,
Curl like ocean waves, longing
To kiss her soft cheek.

The breeze is gentle against her skin,
Diffuse thoughts float delicately,
Landing softly; beautiful maiden
Resting on the sand, crowned
With the blooms of a goddess,
Cheeks stroked with morning dew,
Swelling breasts tremble; once cherished
Lover, now begotten mistress
To the bridle of lust’s temptation.

Ghost of innocence

Ghost of innocence,
You took for your own
What I can never give again.

Farewell my love,
Saying goodbye is hard —
You meant everything to me,
I will never forget

Laying my head against your breast,
While you breathed words
Of sweet desire, I loved to hear
You singing the poems of Sappho,
Watching as you brushed your hair,
Slipping on a summer dress —
I loved the bright colours you wore,
Red lips, painted toenails,
Your sharp intelligence, witty tongue
That left me with shivers,
When you looked in my eyes,
Touching my hand gently,
Light reflecting from irises
As I lay mesmerised,
Intoxicated by the perfume
Of flowers against your soft neck,
How I met your craving
For burning desire
With my own tender sighs,
Succumbing to the beauty
Of moonlight on your skin,
Flower petals open
To relieve my frustrations,
Scattering violet, blue and yellow
Until only orange and red
Flash behind my eyes
In our exquisitely beautiful tryst,
Breathing affection against your breasts,
Yes desire — right there.

Then you kissed me goodbye,
Scalding my lips;
Everything is hazy
When I close my eyes
As I lay here alone.
My own heart is anguish
At your hot and cold;
I draw my arms
Across my chest
To remember your warmth —
If only I could look in those eyes
One more time.


Shivering with cold
on my morning walk
in a Canberra fog.

It is less than a week
until my birthday;
another diary page;

the magic of words,
that voice in my head,
soundtrack to my footsteps.

Yesterday it was dark,
eyes staring at nothing
but the morning silence;

tomorrow will be better,
he won’t hit me ever again,
choking my emotions;

today, a song in my ears
reaches into my heart,
where it is impossible.

I don’t know what it means
to fall in love with you,
but I could be a fool;

tonight, sheets crumpled,
slowly undressing
fingers on the keyboard;

what happens next
between a man and a woman
could make me cry;

but the radio tells me
to have a little patience,
waiting for your warmth.

Pink ochre

Pink ochre. That is the first thing to strike you. Miles and miles of pink ochre dunes stretching as far as your eye can see; drifting sands of time in a crescent around the ancient edge of a lake, glowing now in the pearly dawn. Under the wide dome of sky, one tiny human stands in awe, leaving a footprint in the outback — following the steps of ancestors.

As I breathe the cool mallee breeze deeply into my lungs, the cypress pines whisper secrets of another time, when people of the dreamtime walked the lake shore, its waters teeming with life; human dramas lost in the aeons. Now grey apostle birds disturb sleeping campers, clucking and scratching after insects, or picking through left overs from last night’s supper.

High in the sky, a wedge-tailed eagle soars above the dry lake bed, silently surveying his domain. If only you could fly like the eagle, you might see the chain of lakes that was once the lifeblood of the country spread across the plains, waiting patiently through eternity for the waters to return. Time stands still out here, where there or no deadlines or alarm clocks, no places to be, no meetings; just the stillness the bush on my morning walk, save the occasional thud of a kangaroo, the sorrowful cry of a crow.

Bending to the ground, I pick up a handful of clay, smooth grains caressing my skin as I paint fingermarks on my cheeks in memory of the old people. Pink ochre.

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