
hangs a dirigible
one end noses the future,
the other a smatter of roots.

again. $3 bags of kanzi and jonathons
are sweating on the change, pumpkins curl round
roadside tables and here a whole parkfull

fallow
even as I beat these keys with my fist / they resist, spring springs back
I groan, hammer the veins in my head / as if effort would suffice
all winter’s rawness: the burnished furrow, the cornstalk wrecks

Delighted that my poem – The cyclist has been shortlisted for the South Coast Writers Centre Poetry Award competition – and to be in the company of such a fine group of poets. Many thanks to the judges Sarah Nicholson and Mark Tredinnick – and if you find yourself in Wollongong on Saturday 29 March, come along to the readings.
Also Tall Yellow Poem (a personal favourite) was long-listed for the same competition.

A golden shovel for Margaret Atwood quoting Rilke.
Seems I’m not the only one interested in the poetry
of the dead. I know I should let lie – the past is the past.

On any screen my attention drifts
whether it’s girls online or the official denials
a reporter hunched in a bunker
or reading the accounts—I’m looking

Like a ruby held up to the sunrise. Is it still a stone, or a world made of redness? Rumi
take 3 fugitive seeds
between your teeth
and bite

a scour of waves in the afternoon wind
the bright hard at our faces
everything
the words fall away
until there is only light
then not even that.
Image: Picnickers at Wollongong City Beach (then known as South Beach) with Coniston Beach and Port Kembla Steelworks in background, 9 November, 1982. c/- Wollongong Public Library . A jisei is a ‘death poem’ in Japanese/East Asian tradition. Jisei tend to offer a reflection on death—both in general and concerning the imminent death of the author (in this case imagined – touch-wood🤞)—that is often coupled with a meaningful observation on life. Frank is hosting the bar at dverse asks us to write a jisei to celebrate the onset of the northern winter.
And here’s the wonderful Gillian Welch with Hard Times.