This piece was written for D'Verse's challenge this week to demonstrate turns in poetry – where a poem shifts gear or opens a window. At her birth she staggered on unfamiliar legs while her mother licked her clean and tried not to stand on her in forgetfulness or fatigue. Soon she stood alone, with a coat that … Continue reading Blood lines
This is my response to the D'Verse poetry challenge around paradox. I am the mother of deserved sorrows I am the ender of the grief. I am violator of the rapists I am the robber of the thief. I am killer of the killers, I am the harbinger of fate. I am the slayer of … Continue reading The mother of deserved sorrows
1700 words It was a fact that Phil had organised for Matthew to die. Phil took full responsibility but there would be no trial. He could have confessed but he chose not to. On principle. When the Reverend Matthew Patterson and his wife, Penny, moved in next door they seemed a pleasant enough couple to … Continue reading Thou Shalt Not
This piece was written for the D'Verse Prosery Challenge, with the prompt to write a story that includes: ‘I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head’. I went out to the hazel wood because a fire was in my head. I sat at the feet of Finneces, who awaited … Continue reading Finn McCool, the first Gaelic vegan
A double enead poem (99 syllables in 3 stanzas of 6/5/11/6/5) written for this Carrot Ranch challenge with accompanying photo. The bleak uncommon cold of northern winters speaks not to warmer Southern Hemisphereans (well, bar Antarctica and kitsch Christmas cards). If I was there today I’d want to leave soon and sit by a fire … Continue reading The Uncommon Cold
Written for the D'Verse 144 word challenge, requiring the use of this quote: 'Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy' from the poem Spring Azures by Mary Oliver. Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy, not proportionate to the flesh they support, but I have little choice if I … Continue reading Bones made of air
This poem was written in response to this challenge from the D'verse site : Bring us to a time and place in your poem. Give us the smells, sights and sounds of your setting. The Fourth Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Death, astride his pale green horse, rides over the hill bringing Hades with him, and … Continue reading Death, thy name is bushfire
Walter McGillicuddy’s only, and supremely effective, defense against the charge of being insane was that he always remained within the bounds of the broad church of sanity. When he was questioned by the railway police as to why he was tearing up strips of newspaper and throwing them out of the window, he said it … Continue reading When the chickens come home to roost
This is a quadrille submitted to the D'verse poetry page Your healing, seemingly random, barely understood, as you intend. Finding that fluttering life muscle behind my dead eyes, you palpate gently until wisdom’s heartbeat returns These words, these iron filings of my secret armour, seek your magnetic orbit and the grace of your embrace.
Matt waited in the darkness of the verandah, his cheek against the stripped timber of the front door he’d meant to stain one day. As he waited, Dee played the piano and sang at the end of the corridor, on the other side of the door. Sounded like an original. It suited her voice. At … Continue reading When is a revolution just a circle?