Category: Poetry and Prose

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. 

Passing Time


July sun is more endearing than any other months
on the southern hemisphere

I saw a seahorse up in the sky
My mind told me that’s impossible
But my eyes were certain
In a blink of an eye
a fire breathing dragon appeared
There was no trace of the seahorse
I began to wonder
if my eyes played tricks on me

That was a couple minutes of cloud watching
I have a whole afternoon to ponder
under the warm windy winter sky

其实

其实
我很简单
你想象中的复杂
只是
一个过去失落的我

其实
空气很自然
只是
有时呀
我们忘记了呼吸

其实
你也很简单
只是
我们幼稚的爱
寻求多余的复杂

Boomerang

Living Poetry prompt – Native


Bart sends out weekly prompts
hunting for prized written arts
Sometimes they return empty
right back in his wanting hand
At times they return a surprise
making his waiting heart sing

Gumboots


I walked the distance under the grey sky
Let the rain quieten my mind
The gumboots you gifted me
were meant to keep me dry
They were love to me

I knocked on your door
waited patiently
You opened eventually
and showed me contempt

Still
I was so glad I came
I couldn’t run away from missing you
But I finally turned away from hatred

Strangely
my steps were lightened
in my water filled gumboots

💄💋👠


I will have to climb over your heels
before I can reach your kiss of fire
The straight pantyhose line is my guide

Writer’s note: Mr Tips from the V Pub gave me a prompt about lipstick and shoes.

A Funeral for Sperms

Living Poetry July Picture Prompt

Onlookers and passerby gave them the cheers
Some even said congratulations
Little did they know
there goes his vitality into the thin air
Her belly is still flat
and her womb is still empty

2030

This poem was published in Social Justice Inks Anthology by Lisa Tomey’s Prolific Pulse Press, available for purchase on Amazon.

An old woman took her granddaughter to the mall. 

She wanted to buy her little girl a lollipop. 

The shopkeeper asked her to pay at the facial recognition machine. 

She was too poor to own a digital device,  

too helpless to be tech savvy, 

and she only scraped by using the money in a biscuit tin. 

The shopkeeper told her that business could not accept cash payment anymore, 

for the public health order said it all. 

She pleaded with the shopkeeper saying they were clean and healthy. 

All she wanted was a good old days’ reward for her granddaughter. 

The little girl looked up to her tear-filled eyes, 

“Nana, you are the sweetest thing in the whole wide world, 

more than all the lollies in the shop. 

Our papa in heaven knows we are clean. 

Let’s go and play in the sun!” 

Writer’s notes: This poem is about the future of digitised technology and human passport segregate the society and continue to drive vulnerable group of people to be the outcast. 

Caged


I read her like a fascinating book.
I look at her as a piece of intriguing art work.
I watch her in a black and white nostalgic movie.
I imagine how she would sound in all her shrinking presence.

Cruelly, you picked her out from the wild
With contempt you isolated her from her family
All for your selfish needs
You gratify from her beauty
You covet her freedom
You punish her for her silence

A songbird gave up her will to survive
Not for a pair of clipped wings
But for a dimming voice