Pilgrim
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Morning Meditation
My self is a twig
On the river of the soul
Returning to the ocean of god
From whence it came -
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 person who created the object. But the tricky bit is they may…
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The Body
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 first to see it. It was just a quiet drink’s party on a …
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The Story
The story is already written
In the space outside of time
In the silence of easy detachment
We can read it quietly at leisure -
The Log Splitter
You could see him grimace every now and again as he worked. In the afternoons he worked alone.
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Walk On
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 have
Each step painful, joyous or foolish
Regardless they are tak… -
Why?
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 artist
You haven’t learn’t enough, suffered enough
Aren… -
Morning Prayer
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 of the same coin,
Are recognised and discarded
Family, 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 frost can be as thick as snow. The merino sheep here grow fi…
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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 Texas would witness it. 9/11 would seem like the hors’ d…
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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 and a different planet. Now, it was time for him to renew so he…
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New Born
The shadows of sorrow deepen
The minor miseries and great
Unfold, slightly unexpected
And the great mystery is not this
But that somehow the weary eyes
See through it all (in general)
To some un… -
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 colleagues
By the wealth which I hold
By the love of my children
By t… -
My Suitcase
My suitcase will be empty when I reach my journey’s end /
Definitely it will not contain clothes, or houses, dollars or shares /
Awards, honour and esteem wont make it to the end / -
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 cleared away
