He burst in laughter
watching her creating
a “no makeup” makeup look
He wanted to say
‘You look beautiful without
all these expensive bottles and palettes’
But the concentration on her face
the brushes moved with her skilled hand
He saw an enthusiastic girl in a craft studio
enjoying creative elaboration
Category: Poetry and Prose
The Great Escape
She packed two silk dresses
and
seven different red lipsticks
caught the midnight train
to Paris
The rhythm of train lulled her
to the memory of yesterdays
She was cut off from the world
that she once lived in vibrancy
by a pair of cruel hands clasped around her neck
deceiving her as a silk tie but deadly
Light went out of her in that luxurious villa
Her shadow ghost roamed among the Spanish antique furniture
and priceless artworks
She pressed her pale face
on the tan sandstone wall
longing for the sun to rescue her
She envied the robins sang freely in the midst of bluebells and primroses
The night was starless
But she saw Van Gogh’s cafe de nuit
and smelled the roses wrapped in newspaper
resting casually on the table
by a café allongé
The soft song of J’en connais
calling her home
* This poem was included in Wounds I Healed, published by EIF, edited by Gabriela Milton.
Pretty in White
I thought
butterflies fell from the sky
resting on the tree branch
I reached out my hand to touch
their silk dresses
and realised they were blossoms
pretty in white
#Publication – The Poets Symphony (re-promotion)
The Poets Symphony
Verses, Melodies, and Lyrical Poems
Published by Raw Earth Ink in 2020
Available at Angus & Robertson, Dymocks, Amazon, Lulu
I have read this anthology again recently, and I feel it’s worth mentioning again. 💚
Neurotypical
Living Poetry word prompt – Abandon
She thinks black and white
She knows right or wrong
She is refreshing
when she speaks her mind
She is energising
when she speaks your mind
She is beautiful
when she dances with total abandon
She is light
when she faces the sun
singing to the birds
Table for Two
Six Sentence Story prompt word – Space
The sun prints on the floor to give a hint of time.
I have been sitting in the chill for longer than I realise.
The coffee has gone cold, and the froth has gone undone.
People perhaps grow tired of me watching them, they call the bill swiftly.
This table is meant to be bridging our hands together.
But with your absence, the space between us grows apart further and deeper.
Filter Perfect
I hold the habour in view
capture the soulless sun
refelcts off the careless blue
Her dreary face
filled with nostalgic remorse
I apply a filter to restore
her black and white heritage
Even a tear soaked face carries beauty
by Cassa Bassa
Predestination
This is written based on Living Poetry word prompt – Race, machine, epigraph
The human race are not machines.
Grease and grime don’t feed us.
Electricity or coal don’t power us.
Carriage or container don’t move us.
We are flesh and blood bear sins.
There was epigraph written long before our birth.
We are of love, power and sound minds.
Daniel Boyd Treasure Island Exhibition
You touch me with invisible hands
My body moves through the frames without consciousness
You speak to me in an unknown tongue
But I understand in the deepest of my being
You reach out to me like a stranger on the road
I am changed forever by this visual encounter
Writer’s notes: I went to the NSW Art Gallery to see the Archibald exhibition without knowing the Daniel Boyd Treasure Island exhibition was also on. I wandered in and stayed there for a long while. His work touched me and moved me in a complex emotional way. It’s hard to describe. It’s enough for me to share and write a poem about it .
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.
Flicker of Thoughts 