poetry
The Golden Comb
Frank’s backed up. Continue reading
harbour city’s f_cked
the palm at the end, beyond the fence
a last thought of green. Continue reading
Friday favourites…
The stranded angler
Lake Illawarra, 7 September 2018
the long flat – gone to white
ring of hills process through blue, grey, black —
bright enough for one small life. Continue reading
The mountain
— looms in grandeur
— glaciers and dark passes
— avalanches (like a verb) Continue reading
Not the thing itself, only ideas
after Wallace Stevens
Snagged on the headland’s ironstone the storm drains the bay. The water’s surface is electric (with possibility), rain inscribes Pythagorean forms – trios, polygons, hedrons – onto the second-rate swell. Continue reading
in the street of the sky…
in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems
e e cummings
like a drunk
looking for his keys
in a parking lot Continue reading
Spring’s like-ness
— the wisteria vine like a weight-lifter’s bicep Continue reading
Parker’s box
gave Florida’s clouds a good rollicking then gone Continue reading
Peter Frankis writes 