Category: Poetry and Prose

Pushcart Prize Nomination

THE FIRST IS THE LAST

We are the first born of this land 
But we are cursed
We are the tail of everything

Our land was robbed
Our blood was tainted
Our children were stolen
Our identity was denied

We bury generations of grief
Into drunken days and nights

Our refuge is the dreaming
Under the watch of our sky father
The only place we are the first
And his favourite

 
Writer’s notes: This poem is about the Australian First Nation Peoples (the Aboriginal Australians) who continue to suffer from the oppressed and persecuted past. 

Understanding

Under different skies
rain threads them together

In different storylines
Characters sing to their minds

Writers write
Dreamers dream
Lovers love

They have found shelter
by knowing that
they exist

Publication – The Short of It Volume II

I am honoured to be included in this volume. I love succinct language. Here, cheers to Susi and all the contributing writers. Available for purchase here.

Reflections & Revelations

Amusement Park

Freshwater beach, Sydney northern beaches, Australia

Cotton candies hung high in the sky
Balancing on our surf boards
we throw our arms in the air
hoping to pull them right down
and taste our childhood again
in this amusement park
floating on a bed of turquoise dreams

Pebbles

Chilly autumn day
on a wet shore
The hard-edged pebbles
underneath my unprepared feet
cripple my steps

Leaning against a rock
I watch you snorkeling
flappers up
diving deep
towards the colourful marine world
where you find joy
and peace

Friendship

We switched off
left the city chaos
drove miles
to share the hope
of a sunrise

We needed a group hug
and the comforting arms
of a rising sun

Retired Boats

We’ve been waiting for
a good day to take the boats out

We’ve been spending our time in waiting for the right moment to have fun

We know it’s silly
But our family thrive on regrets

Joy-kill Reality

Living Poetry April visual prompt

Don’t fit in those boots no more
Forgot how to be joyful on the little things in life
Can’t blame the overgrown feet
It’s the fault of the grown-up mind

Is This Art?

I hate my face, but I want a portrait painted. You are the artist, see what you can do. I trust you…