Con-temporary Poetry

July 6, 2009 at 7:06 pm | Posted in australian poetry, contemporary poetry, poetry, writing | 20 Comments
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All poems are experiments, experiments in experience

all are equally difficult to see in their entirety

equally easy to read for sounds and subtle thrills.

When a simple tale of the honesty of water spills/ over

slipways and invades the footpath canvas of street artists,

and Banksy’s anonymity runs graffiti over frames,

Western minds

which delight in dis/section into categories

sticky plaster labels, con-temporary

, a temporary con, and in the

absence of sensible syntax

while somewhere between giggling and tummyful

sits sunonhead under banyan trees

integrating in mysterious digestion

the wondrous simplicity of pastries.


The Enemy Of Art.

October 21, 2008 at 6:48 pm | Posted in blogging, poetry, prosepoemthingy, writing | 14 Comments
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Complacency, the enemy of art, he said, especially among the smug, buttoning his belt while unbuttoning his tongue. You fools think you can steal from me and then parade yourselves in stolen clothes as though some mere mockery of me? My paranoia is not so much of Edward Lear nor King but more Othello. And turns.

must you forever play Iago, Squires, why not something far more subtle. Because, sir, in the olden days there was no amplification beyond the human voice and now every voice is equally electrically enhanced, so it will become again a game of shouts and whispers and occasional masterly asides through barely disguised musichall moustachios, I tells ya,

them sails are low boys, now suck in air
and blow,

Reverse psychopomp.

September 19, 2008 at 5:59 pm | Posted in antihaiku, blogging, links, podcast, poetry, prosepoemthingy, tshirt | 22 Comments
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Roll up roll up says the old priest staring into the mirror
and wiping away the teardrop tattoo again,
just another Friday night,
play that reverse

  • psychopomp
  • again,

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