Different opinions,
ways of living life;
too much water
under the bridge.

Unable to visit, not
wanting to see him;
he’s not the Father
you idealised, loved.

Years passed, water
passed, life passed;
no time felt right to
go and visit, talk.

You felt it before it
came; a knowing;
a death too quick
for you to digest.

He danced with
death deliberately
on his own; no time
to give anyone time.

You made your peace
with him on the telephone;
he said he has beautiful
children, then the guilt.

Another Ibrat for you to
understand, to learn from;
sitting here looking at
his box filled with ashes.

Australian Landscapes

Big stars burn down from the sky,
the moonlights part of the way.

Bronzed grass lines the streetscape,
this land is crisping under the sun.

Blossoms on the breeze do smell,
as a lost memory emerges, forms.

Big stars burn down from the sky,
the moonlights part of the way,
so, I walk to the end of the street.

Black sky, big stars, a bright moon;
the hills sit in luminous shadows,
no cows moo at this time of night.

Bronzed grass lines the darkened
hills flowing beyond the shadows,
to remind me of other landscapes.

Blossoms on the breeze do smell,
reminding me of the landscapes
of my life, and how the landscapes
of this land changed me over time;
how this land’s landscapes change.

Joyful Song

Another new day, another war ends.
Out with the old, in with the swing.

Another candle burns down, spills;
electric lights would spoil the mood.

Another flapper dress bounces,
someone else does the dancing;
I’m sitting at home, cool as a cat,
relaxing in my fine haberdashery.
I’m waiting for no one, just the cat.

Another cloud bursts, like his heart,
when someone shot him a year ago.

Another dead soldier for the cause,
though I wonder if it was worth it.

Another set of thoughts race by,
as the emotions of widowed bliss
set in, consume the atmosphere,
keep the cat from venturing over.

Another record to spin, as I dance
with his pillow to our joyful song.

Forest Spirit


A smile from ear to ear,
as the young one ships through
the forest searching for playtime.

Monstrous trees do tower,
and the feeling of them bending
inwards is a very odd feeling.

Odd feelings pass, as her
favourite tree approaches, or
she approaches her favourite tree.

Strange, as always, she asks for
permission before climbing
this familiar one, her safe one.

A flicker of movement out of
the corner of her eye
piques her innocent curiosity.

Feeling as though she now has
permission to climb, she climbs
the tree steadily, full of life.

Sitting in her spot, she looks
down and sees a boy, yet not a
boy; maybe an elf, forest spirit.

Calm, she watches as he walks
away; she calls to him, yet he
never turns towards her, gone.

She comes to visit this spot hoping
to catch a glimpse of him again,
and to see her friend the tree.

She hasn’t seen him for years,
yet her daughter just pointed and
said, “A boy Mumma! A boy!”

Garden Settlement

Remembering those days, when we
went to the Garden Settlement and
sang for the golden oldies.

Red and white checked uniforms for
the girls, blue and maroon for the boys;
no in-between in those days,
no difference at Catholic School.

Smiling faces attached to
weather-beaten, toil soaked bodies;
some almost ready for whatever
comes next, others bored, lonely.

Presents arrived for the residents,
or the older people who seemed to
be forgotten; they beam with joy.

We were too young to appreciate
what we saw, until one day like today,
sitting at the window waiting for
the storm, I remember that day.

I remember their faces, now all dead
no doubt. I feel sadness for their
loneliness, and wonder if I want to
grow older in this country, world.