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Her teats are still warm, and warm my hands as I milk her. She died about an hour ago but still has one last thing to give. This milk is precious. It will provide the newborn foal who jostles around …
Goodbye dear Errol. Tragically died on 6 January 2011. / You were a fine dog that could not jump very high / You were the best of friends and anxious with your jobs / You protected us as well as you …
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Her teats are still warm, and warm my hands as I milk her. She died about an hour ago but still has one last thing to give. This milk is pr…
An old horse, a small friend
Shooting the Dogs
It is tough country out beyond Gundagai; not many trees, low hills and thin grass. In summer the place is all glare and dust. In winter the…
This is a story that can only start in the middle because it has no beginning or end. / Damascus 1988 or thereabouts, that is the middle. T…
You can break wire, like a twig / It’s a knack, surprising when first seen / Now the arthritis in my fingers eases / When I flick the wire …
The Aliens – Microstory
It had been some months now since he had travelled to night. He remembered when night travelled to him but that had been a different era an…
My clothes fall from me, unneeded / Slowly I lose the house my money built / Careers and dreams blow off as dust / Hope and fear, two sides…
You are that most remarkable of things / One tiny part of the universe that knows itself / And can even know others / And can even love them
The Log Splitter
You could see him grimace every now and again as he worked. In the afternoons he worked alone.
In the ageing of our parents / We watch our own mortality / With its inescapable logic
And they shed the miner’s collar / With education, not a lucky strike.
The Greatest Blessing
Would I have been the one who stood against the lynch mob / Or in the back shouting with a violent rage? / In want and need would I go cold…
Who’s the Artist?
Standing, looking at an artwork in a gallery recently I found myself asking, who is the artist? At one level the answer is obvious – the pe…
When I meet you
When I meet you / May it be with all the respect I have / Or might bestow upon some icon / Of wealth, or fame or power / For it is as sure…
Goodbye Dear Friend
Goodbye dear Errol. Tragically died on 6 January 2011. / You were a fine dog that could not jump very high / You were the best of friends a…
For Peter O’Sullivan my friend.
Ok, so here I am in a dreary hotel room in deepest America (not so dreary to be honest) but you get the picture and my wife sends me this p…
My soul rests gently / In the cradle of the universe / I measure my successes / and my failures / Against an infinity of time / and space /…
We knew death better then / Our children, not all, had died young / Maybe we buried our wife / (Many died young in labour) / We could put a…
I Measure My Life
I measure my life by the days on the calendar / I measure my life by the years since 1960 / I measure my life by the esteem of my colleague…
The shadows of sorrow deepen / The minor miseries and great / Unfold, slightly unexpected / And the great mystery is not this / But that so…
I am a boat on the ocean / Or even just a sailor on the boat / Sometimes joyous and singing of the sea / Sometimes hanging over the side / …
The End of Time
Michael fondled the remote. Ahmed, so stupid, called the bomb “Naheyet is-Saah” when he sold it – “The end of time”. The faithful in…
Before Copernicus, confirmed later by Galileo in subtle measurement, the world was thought to be as it appeared, a stable core to a shiftin…
Pity the man who loses his sight / Or the heiress reduced to rags
This is the time of doubt, that is certain
It is / as / it should be.
Peter and the Tree
Heavy rains finally broke the drought / A large eucalypt, perhaps 5 feet across, came down / Falling across a fence, it needed to be clear…
6 am / Meditating, quietly on a warm day / My daughter creeps up behind me / Kisses me gently on my head / She doesn’t want to distur…
The New Colt
The mare died a few hours before. Her blood is still on my hands and clothes. The mud of the paddock thick on my boots. Now, the new colt a…
Memories of the Dead
My Grandfather would spit in the dust and cover it with his boot / He said that German tools were the best, and I hear this when I pick up …
My self is a twig / On the river of the soul / Returning to the ocean of god / From whence it came
I choose each grain of sand / Pick it for colour, texture, luster / And place it carefully in the Mandala / I know them as my work, my fami…
It appeared from around the top of the island. Very classical – face down, arms and legs stuck straight out. It’s hard to say who was the f…
The vice that must hide itself / And often is no vice at all
Art is elite, frightening, unobtainable / You can’t do it, be it, feel it / You can’t create it, share it / Don’t dare call yourself an art…
When I meditate / The kookaburras laugh.
I Shot a Wombat
He sat still, willing the end / A single shot (I am pleased I had practiced)
What seems like a beginning may be an end.
I wonder / That part of me that is watching / Does it care if my life is / Happy or sad?
Hunting with Aboriginals
Last year Aboriginals took me to find a boomerang. Eventually, after hundreds of rejected trees, one was found buried deep within the corre…
The ego is beaten invisibly thin between / The anvil of the present moment / And the hammer of eternity.
The story is already written / In the space outside of time / In the silence of easy detachment / We can read it quietly at leisure
My suitcase will be empty when I reach my journey’s end <br> / Definitely it will not contain clothes, or houses, dollars or sh…
When I use the axe well / There is a spot on the log / The axe and the outcome / When I use the axe well
One step in front of the other / The road moves beneath the feet / Indifferent, completely to the faith / Or lack off, we may choose to hav…
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