A social site for poets in Sydney.
The transparent tube lies on the floor from the oxygen bottle to his nose,
His lungs are in deep decay, asbestos slowly killing them every day,
Years of cutting asbestos sheets sucking down a lung full with every breath,
He spits up pieces of bloodstained lung as a searing pain rips across his chest.
How he used to laugh at the younger guys, when he saw them using a mask,
They called them soft girlie boys, but they are the ones that will laugh the last,
Mr. Rabbit he was out of luck, he tried and tried but could find no work
Feeling sad he starts to weep, he has no money, no place to sleep
Just then the clever fox passed by and said Mr. Rabbit why do you cry?
Come stay with me and pay no rent, for I heard you say, your monies spent
My house is warm and buried from the sun, and far away from the farmer’s gun
There are vegetables for you to eat; as well I know that you do not eat meat
I will give you sweets for…
Just as small green tendrils that manage to creep through the concreteSearching for light, fighting for lifeResilient and persevering, surviving with only a glimmer of chanceShe too pushed through the oppressivenessWith not much hopeShe fought and…Continue
We're all poets, or poetry in the Age of Narcissism I encountered this view very early on in my life as a poet. I remember going to a party in inner-city Sydney in the late seventies. By then I'd been publishing and giving readings for a few years…Continue
Watch out, those Magpies may attackand swoop on people from the back!They'll frighten and intimidateintruders to their claimed estate.They're boldly plumed in in black and whitejust like Currawongs at first sight.They carol as they walk aroundand…Continue
GLENDA’S STORIES Pubs, I’ll tell you pubs, best places in the worldPeople treat barmaids, with respect, my wordNot like blokes, blokes, damn blokesThey lay and cheat, who’d believeA girl from the streets Bloody Irishman, smooth, as a good Scots on…Continue