The more things change

Gossip mongers fear
the fairy rath,
where December slows,
women sing at the bail,
warm palms against skin,
cheeks against bovine flanks,
milk sparse in the churn;

gibbous moon rings
fire lit faces,
bare feet scuff cobbles;
superstitious silence
drives poor women
from their homes,
for aren’t they to blame?

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Bush ballad

Breezes high wave treetops
A lowly crow is flying
No future bright by campfire glow
Where time strikes down all men
For in the name of love
There is no mercy

Feminist city

Feminist city, serenely felt;
Nurturing mother holds me close
To her interior, warm, complex
Organic beating heart
Underneath concrete exteriors,
Reproductive choice and motorways;
Where women march together
Creating female space
Among misogynist sprawl
Because life is renewal
And the future is female.

History

Under what conditions women lived
Beaten, locked up, flung about
Servant to her lord and master
Idolised in poetry, prose
Desired and despised in flesh
Absent from history
Enslaved by a ring on her finger.

Directing the storm

Directing the storm
Of patriarchal ideals
That men and women subscribe to
Of romance, unattainable love,
Housewives keep streets clean,
With sparkling eyes, dimpled, fresh,
Waiting to bestow kisses or faint
Curiousity won’t stop them talking,
Defined not by what they do
But by their relationships to men.

Voices of girls

Emotional Australian girls
With strong voices
That are painfully true
And real, oh yes,
Real Australian voices
Fighting for the right
To be free from voices
Of patriarchy – men’s and women’s
Voices telling girls
Who to be
How to stand
When to speak
These girls have stopped asking
How it came to be
They just know it is
And they don’t like it anymore
It’s time for change
As able as any sunburnt son of Australia

Searching for a female revolution

Tomorrow I am setting out
on the fairytale freeway
in relentless search for lost paradise,
just woman, the road and nature;
escaping the angel in the house,
swept by excitement – revolutionary words,
that rage with hunger in the gathering storm

A night at the opera

A night at the opera
/ seductive heroines meet their death
/ stabbed, poisoned, strangled –
/ drive to madness by men
/ abused, tormented –
/ while audiences rise to their feet
/ for the final aria soars sublime
/ fleeting heroes weave their slow plot
/ against female power and strength

My heart aches for Australia

My heart aches for Australia
Beats with sorrow
For the women that walk the streets
When night time falls
Luring men to their fate
For she is nature
And men need to rise above
Soft maidens and wine
To reach their angels
Waiting patiently at home
Expecting him to be faithful
With aching hearts

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