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

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There was a boat

There was a boat
Just an old boat
Rust curling up the side
But it was the children
They were in the water
All of them
All of the children
In the blue water
Like it was a game
If I covered my ears
It looked like a game
They weren’t screaming then
And it was just the smoke
From the burning boat
Flowers licking the rust
That made my eyes teary
Not the children
I couldn’t see them anymore
But I knew they were there
In the water, the blue water.

Society, the dark truth

the basement of civilisation
ensnares humans with a lust for survival,
outside the shining dawn draws them out of corners

newcomers are swallowed behind doors
into the doll’s houses of emotion
human nature walks away from the poor

slipping through the cracks of humanity
misery leaves childhood behind
in the wind and the rain, the dark truth

They’re watching me

They’re watching me
over every shoulder
reading my emails
following every footstep
into the shadows
every key stroke
every thought
worried about revolution
but they are part of the problem

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

I come from my country

I come from my country
Where Thursday frost sparkles
Beneath my feet
Some wear their national identity
Like a cloak, but mine
Is more like a well-worn cardigan
Comfortable and familiar
Somewhere in the bottom of my closet
I wear it for old time’s sake
But most of the time it is just there
In the back of my memory
A little old fashioned
A bit out of date
Threadbare and worn
Like the colours of yesterday
Even though I have never left these shores
It is part of me, like my country
Like the Thursday frost
Sparkling beneath my feet.

The futility of war

good men brave and true
do not fear the leap into danger
it is for women and children
to sit home and quiver
until the good men do not return

Spontaneous fun

Spontaneous fun
away from the pressures of life
rather than hanging lifeless
with fear at the newsfeed
on my phone while toast burns
and the kettle boils like a gargoyle
I am no brave hunter heading into the night
the fireside provides comfort, but fears

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