All across my path

Rain giving the land blessed baths

Snailways cross and part

Silken rails, drifting trails

On my way to get the mail

Snailways, from a rain-filled day

I need to be with you

Snailways, it another thing telling me

I need to be with you

Snailways, kneel down an say

I need to be with you

Snailways, from a rain-filled day

I need to be with you

Lacertae II

Ducks. Moons. Eternity. Tamed memory.

Little things I keep alive in my mind.

Your presence. Essence. The place in the world your had. It’s still hard to find anything that will ever replace.

Eclipse. Moonshine. Moonstone.

Pentagram, in a illustrated book.

Never, ever, even being.

Your words that saved me. And these little things I do. Again. Again,

Pain gone? That’s a comfort. For some.

I’m trying. Trying to be worthwhile. Again. Again.

Desolation in the empty.

Insidious clouds empty snow. But they are fleeting. Dissipating.

Worthwhile? What is that to a tiny snowflake? To a duck on the lake waiting out the rain? The life that flows through us, it’s trying always to escape.

The world, the essence of it, comes from our little bits of time.

Yours, to brief.

mine still lingering

I ask why

Crosses in cloudscape

Two eggs, laid down by the corridors

Sure as mortal days escape by the west coast

Rolling boulders feel the way of the mocking birds

Roasting legs dripping starlight onto the verge

Up in my estimations, high sky crosses the absurd river of ice

Titanic served salmon on a bed of white rice

With such luscious little smiles, scales and forgiveness in the rails

It’s the day of the cowardly snails

Tendril islands 

Gentle careful aches for touch

Much sense filled to almost brimming

In your kisses I am swimming 

Bring, bring us tendril islands 
Let’s go together 

Lost on our island forever 

Never, ever be anything but us

Oh, flounder and thrust
Tickle, trickles into a caress 

I’m sorry but I might make a mess

Wispering silence as much as you can best

The lick of a breast 
For long our nibbles

Trouble with tribbles

Plays quitely on your TV

I steal a kiss passionately 
Clever girl, your gasping breath says

Tendril of your tounge finds

Sipping your wine, for it’s time 

For partaking of mine 
Tendril islands

Put into motion

Drinking this potion

Lost in my ocean 

The Sands Of Time

take a look at the whole
the stars above
there are more than the
grains of salt
on every beach
you ever swum on
every ice cream
you have ever eaten
they are greater than
every day you have ever lived
every way you have ever did
make sure you remember this

there are a billion million trillion of it all
its all that you can be sure of
take another look
before you stand and shake
in the cold night
above the stars are so bright
but do they matter?
But do they matter?

have you ever been sure
that you knew more than you could ignore
have you ever listened to the words
and found they contradicted the way you thought
have you ever had a feel
that you could melt the snow
and take it all for granted beyond
beyond the forsaken shaw

on raindrops
in shadows
by sunlight
ye wind
lo feel
li deel
me take

have you ever been sure
that you knew more than you could ignore
have you ever listened to the words
and found they contradicted the way you thought
have you ever had a feel
that you could melt the snow
and take it all for granted beyond
beyond the forsaken shaw

there are a billion million trillion of it all
its all that you can be sure of
take another look
before you stand and shake
in the cold night
above the stars are so bright
but do they matter?
But do they matter?

take a look at the whole
the stars above
there are more than the
grains of salt
on every beach
you ever swum on
every ice cream
you have ever eaten
they are greater than
every day you have ever lived
every way you have ever did
make sure you remember this

make sure you remember this
for it is beyond what you hoped inside
I shoot the moon
I take the spoon
the cat and the fiddle talk more than hey diddle diddle
its cute but its annoying
that you don’t know what it is
but inside it is
beyond the feeling of the sand
deep in the ground
standing eternal beyond all sound
every grain represents a hart
every grain represents a flight

a day
a tell
a song
a fell
a star
all that is
is all represented in the sand
in the sands
in the sands
the sands of time

Significant halo, insightful tangle

Looking about face

The soup of her favorite song in the air

She takes her halo off

Polishing it for the first time

Covered in crystal hatreds

The mess these mortals make

Chords of their lives weaved in knots 

They scissor hands and scissor deaths

Looking at this moment, at her own thoughts

Knitting, striving, fated black ropes

Destiny, in these times

It took so long for her to be aware of this 

A warm feeling of the subdued grey lingers

Non one calls her by her name 

They have a word for her, and her 

Woefully worshipping, in the hope

Silently despairs, in the hate

Significantl tangles, a messy weave 

She’s not the only one who weaves

They do, themselves make it, their are others too

Like, above and, ever pressent 

Immortals is the wrong word

They are: Longen. 

Spiders, birds, books, wombats, nerds

Riding the noises in the forest fae

Spiders, birds, books, wombats, nerds

Strange library, evergreen, oh don’t mind me

Pinky promises flowering essence, cool Ghostly presence

Little strange new dreams of machines, none of them clean 

Rocky colors, shook the duller capture 

Fresh kill to the bones of the Trill, they’re after the carrion fill 

Hot cups, gimlet luck, blue blood, true mud

Flicking others, shadows like cothered muffeled mussel 

Dripping with spite their is the spike, and the hill of the place of the armsted respite 

Besides that their it is, a spokesman for the next new species 

A fairy and a robot, a gathering thought, waves

It’s hand is up, sucking on the teat

Newborn, but not a newcomer

How quickly will it learn? 

Of the spiders, birds, books and nerds? 

Endures, the Perl

Well that wasn’t even the justice of the curls in the system 

I’m sore as a whole bunch of petitions 

Piles of cheats and gassing hermits in leering metal boxes

so I hear they melted down the ox’s

Great beanie islands, sitting in a million times their volume of views

Ques, cues

I anguished. I stepped. I swore are you doing not the right sight. That true box of things that weels it’s place, seems to know more about your directions 

Curly, your just like them 

Grenadine, mixed in tears of a virgin

Lonely, like a oyster 

You will blame the system then the others

Never see the ocean of muck you are in

Is that your fualt? Your future?

I’m just a pearl

I’ve got no cleavage to cut with

I’m anguish, I’m hatred, down into the salty sand I will fall when your gone but a memory in the heart of the ocean.

I’m part of a potion

Coming into the second hands higher than thou attitude 

I’m just dirt. I’m not nothing, but it’s how some will see me. 

Laughing at the infamy of rounded streets

I’ll just tend to this way

Another day away

Into, into the handsome maze

speak to call it a labrynth 

Mountains walking above the lakes

The valleys of the voted men

Seeking words of pages tuned

The mothers messages cross as moths

They bring notes of changes to come

No motel for them to stay

During his concerto, he was interrupted

Wizard standing their, and finds the best is just to spread out the and tuck them 

His pokers face shows no sign

We stand surrounded by million years

Then in laughter of the chaos

Then will the melted anger become stone

Two white buildings

Like a old friend who’s seen the sights

Sitting in a cafe to talk

Winter chills, from the right 

Coats thick and the sanguine coffee strong. Lark at the magpies preparing their best nests.

Some of the paint has crumbled, like that old face you know so well. 

Mossy hair, growing in defiance to the years, spitefully grey.

Clasping the the cup, like a trickle of a stream in a long dry winters night.

Busking death away, his songs are old and full of ttr memories of the places his been. 

It’s a place you go, a place you chat, a place you would call the heart. A city like this, beats like a old trackers farts. It would trundle along, keep going, keep fighting. 

This man is old and cold though. I’m not sure if he will survive the next summers fires. They come all the time now.

I stare at the cup and think how much he’s enjoying it. It’s the last month of winter, and he knows it all to well.

That sanguine coffee is a sign of things to come


Stranger beauty

I look and see a stranger beauty
Flowering above the murky undergrowth

Faces people seemingly blank
Crowds of crows with no faces

Gawk the sound of trumpets baying
Baying like a soulful wind

They turn to face and then see
A stranger beauty inside

Gilded cloak of shadows briefly flutters in the breeze
World of color erupts before me

Winter is so mean

Tree, a life of

Ground swallow me whole. Become my comfort.

Spirals form and twist me inside out. The wind comes and gently touches my form.

Ice falls and inside the moon.

My eye opens and three gardens of life form.

Clouds of stars above, striking the sky above as a blessed drum.
Punctured beats singing abound my head and captured for a moment by my senses.

In the morning my three gardens full with joy, open and sleep again each evening.

Breath takes my flesh like fire as a new garden forms. Again and again. Bare the old dead garden falls. It has had a good place on my form, I will grow others.

Drink the cold rain.

Endure the freezing ice.

Celebrate the new spring as I seek a new way. Send a message.

Send a new path.

The flowers grow, like my gardens but less whole, less lived. They last but a few settings of the life giving light.
But they are replaced by this feeling.
A new path is forming.
Not just one.
Many millions.
It blossoms. It rages. It aches me to our all the spring and some summer into these… Things. My body compels.

They are gone. One sunrise. I again store all the gardens joy inside. Wait for the cold.

Year and year.

Day and day.

Until I feel a prickle. A itch.

Then I am on the ground. It swallows me whole. And the former self reborn, I find myself starting back.

Flowers in Hell

That place of fright that fear is a might. We live in the blight of all our own maze. Blaze our minds and raise our hills.

Glass and steel given out hatred mills to a place given all still.

Lights flicker and dance to our endless trance.

It’s a glance from a uncommon fellow to sell all out bellows.

Flowers in hell. Bloom just as well.

I see that they are actually a thing that we do sing. In the mind there are horrors of fright and such a sights. Internal demons just as big as external demands.

When will we realize that nature doesn’t care?

Flowers in hell, bloom just as well.

Orange Hag

A unpleasant air makes the climb all the harder
For age has made these bones as old as the land under her feet
And no one will help her
Not that anyone is hear to
A lone pine sits watching her smugly from its permeant residence
Waiting to snark at her slow approach
Not one but many more steps before the summit is reached

The hag begins to wonder
Why do this every time?
For love?
For hate?
Because otherwise all like her will no longer be?
Maybe it would feel better if it wasn’t for that smug tree

When the sun finally rises she stops to rest
Her luncheon of nuts and dry meats
Consumed in teeth that hang on
Chomping as loud as she can
No one cares what noise happens up here

Up again and bones creek
It’s not far now
Past that pine
There is a pool
Full of summers last wine

She looks at her reflection
It’s older that she thought
She takes out a spoon and drinks
Sip by sip the memories of the summer past are drunk
At the end she feels a bit sunk
By all the memory in her full belly

Then it’s time.

A flash and she’s back to being all dark and mysterious, still aged but black and not orange
The Winter Hag looks at the empty pool and says
“Pine. You always keep the memory so strong. I wish I could keep such strong memory. ”
And as she walks a into a nearby hut, you could swear the pine was now somehow even more smug than before.


Given soil
Grey and wet and old
Silken or gritty
Mould to your skin so deep
Pithy and meek
Hidden toil

Sign to be written
Hands hope and given
Your given permission
One cloudy shape
Nods it’s head and makes
Gesture your to follow

Down into the mud you go
Open wounds, scared flesh
Burdened and blackened mess
Decaying, crying, hated, dying
But your ready for the mud

It’s sucking you down
Fear and fright comes first
Maybe something makes you fight
Struggle again, but you are so tired
And soon it’s all around
You find it doesn’t suffocate
It’s mud that gestates

You one day have healed
Your wounds no longer open are sealed
Up comes the sun and bakes the clay
Renewed by the Earth and day
Then you see your renewed

Clay doesn’t lie
So wounds of untruth, left there in a brick of clay
That, you will have to deal with another day
Physical hurts are gone
And those you will not mourn

Wheat eyes in harrow

Harrow, the wheat is wet by the summer rains
Slice and chop the chaff and crop every last grain

Upon my face the heat and warmth of the touch
Inside my heart the fire of the hate

Crop and cut and the burn the stubs
I can’t feel the same

The hill above is coved with clover and sundew and pain

I grip in my hands my mothers crown and perhaps fame
But am I my mothers child, or is it just her name?

In court we haggle, in offices we barter, we trade friends and play power games
Do they give the chance to those like me whom have not the brain?

No we crop the soil and tend the earth, when they bite on there good they thank us none the same

But the hill is always there, and the wheat. I am here cropping the wheat. A bug has eaten its pollen, and a worm has eaten the chaff. I will also be eaten one day.

Eaten, and consumed, like eyes on a perfect page of poetry that makes you feel insane.

Old face

Old faces looking at her
Cloaked in blue haze on a bus
They catch it every day
It’s such a note of brown
Brings her down

Inside the ears of song
Bells of division ring long
Heart beats in tune
Thoughts up and down the bar
Drinks, sips, fire and far

Seeking home, but not for bed
Journey is long and thread

In justice we see a balance
A spectrum of fallice

Death is the giver of of this gift
But some will go out with flying fists

Smoke in the carpark

The fire alarm banshee cry filled the insides of the mall like molasses. Every corner of the mall reverberated with it. People all around looked in dismay at each other, all searching for the nearest exit.

“We better get out of here”
“But the dress?”
“Keep it, at least you have cloves on”
Shoeless, Devine got up and walked awkwardly with Tam out of the mall to the evacuation point in the malls car park. They had just got there when the bomb went off.

Meanwhile, at the fire station full Emergency mode was already coming about. William was sitting in FRT3 half way to Belconnen Mall when the smoke from an explosion rose tempest above the horizon blackening the sun. As he got out of the truck a second explosion made him jump. They, the bomber was making it impossible to get anywhere near the building. The first explosion had destroyed the exits, the second had made it so anyone in a car had no exit either. Four close to simultaneous explosions from the looks of it, each destroying one of the ramps, or the road near the exit, making it near impassible. This was planned terrorism with one intent, as many hostages as possible in a confined space. William took a look at the rest of the crew of FRT3 and the crew chief picked up the walkie talkie…
It was blocked. This was more calculated then he thought. There was no way to communicate with the other crews, or police, ambulance, anyone. The mobile lines would jammed with people trying to call for help or trying just to call loved ones.
“Ok, we need to set up a perimeter, no lines of communication with other crews. William get the flare gun from the back.”
They shot of a flare were they were parked, glowing hot pink in the sky, a sign for all other crews and police, ambulance, and possibly more to come to their position. They would need to takle this one as a group. There would be no single person going in and trying to solve the problem by themselves, that only happened in movies.
There would be about, 600-1000 hostages in that building, the last thing they needed was a fireman amongst them.

Trees and rain

Really it had been harder than she had expected. Taking her clothes off had always been the most difficult part. It was due to the teasing, they had called her a boy and she often couldn’t help but imagine one time she would take off her trousers and underpants to find she had become a he. She had dreams about it for a time. But also dreams about having breasts, often comically large. It was still hard, but only when undressing somewhere public, the pool, gym, and the store change room. These are all places she avoided if at all possible. Order online, swim in your own pool or when the public pool was empty and don’t go to the gym or get changed at home. Every now and again she had this urge to make sure she was the same clothes size. Then Devine ended up like this.
Half naked, crying, in a store cubical.

your pathetic

That was what her father had said. Cold hearted bastard, mother had divorced him when she was 2. He still somehow got visitation of her and that meant he could play his mind game on her, or her mother through her. He also called her a boy, pathetic when she cried even made her feel like he didn’t love her. But then she had made it as women he seemed proud and happy. It made as much sense as anything else in the enigma garden that was her fathers mind.
It still hurt her, those words.
How could she get out of this?
More crying.

“Um hello?”


Tam was having a bad day. It wasn’t unusual for her. They came as freely as the sun and moon. It was as if they poor freely from the open wounds of the sky. So on this usually crappy day Tam had no breakfast. Walked to work from her really small apartment which she shared with her hopelessly pretty but gay housemate Steve. He always seemed happy and was getting married soon, he was moving out leaving her with the full rent for the small concrete box she called home. Then she got a call from her ex- boyfriend/stalker about some sort of money he still owed her (it was she decided a dead loss to expect it back at this stage). Then she had to open the store as her manager was late again. Finally a girl was crying in one of the cubicles.

She approached cautiously hoping she didn’t have to call security to get the door open.
“uh hello?”
More sobs but quieter.
“Hello in there. Are you alright.”
Less sobs. Then “I don’t know”
It was weak, like a kitten on it’s first day out.
“it’s ok, I am sure it will be ok.” Tam thought maybe I can talk to her for a bit, sounds like her day has been just as if not more than shitty mine. We have that in common.
“I am not a boy.”
That was unexpected. This is a real problem. Not like mine.
“ok I thought I saw you choose the blue dress, is it not fitting you?”
Best make a topic of conversation away from the topic of being or not being male.
“I haven’t tried it yet.”
Weakly again.
“ok, ok, that’s ok. You don’t have to try it.”
“I want to.”
“ok. Thats fine. You can do that to.”
“I can’t”
“i … I … I don’t like myself.”
“I am sure your lovely”
“why?” weak again.
“your voice is beautiful” Tam said with confidence.
“oh. ”
Some ruffling sounds were produced. Then silence.
Devine opened the door to reveal a wet face in a sea of blue dress.
“I hope I look as pretty as I sound.” She meeped.
“You do.” Tam hugged her, it seemed appropriate.
Then the fire alarm went off.

The clothes shop

It was a cloudy day, one perfect for shopping. I was nervous about it. I knew I needed a decent dress, but I could easily buy online, why did I have to go to the store? Because I needed to see if I was still the same size. I hadn’t changed for years, not since I was 18. But I need to check. I thought to myself.
Devine your a basket case. There I go again, putting myself down. Why? I need to stop it. I am a young, confident, women, who can do this I am strong.
Now just need to actually step into the Mall.
I walked out of the bus station and put my iPod on. I got it to play my “confidence”, playlist. I took confident strides in my custom made ballet slippers and denim skirt, my tight red jacket hugging me and my chest in. I am woman, hear me roar.
I walked into the mall and almost came to a complete stop.
Malls terrify me. Markets, they are fine. City walk, it’s a breeze. But step into the Canberra Centre and enter the Second worst Mall in Canberra. The first being Belco Wesfeild, I call it the Darth Mall since they changed the deco to look like a inside or a gay mans Death Star.
I alway notice the deco first. People I can handle. But bad decoration? I hate it. The Darth Mall makes me feel trapped, Canberra Centre makes me feel like I am in a bad disco for poorly coordinated clowns at a xmass party. Everything in mall is marble, carpet, concrete, glass and whitish paint. Exception Belco were it’s black or grey. Canberra Centre added to the horror with hanging things off walls and from the ceiling. Great advertising boards full of exceptionally pretty people or large post modern art deco things that look like they defy style more than they should defy gravity. Worst is that they hung lights and things in the sculptures, leaving macabre horrors in shadows on the walls. Right, hotel ces la potty, it’s time to march.
I walk up the escalator, spending little time looking at everyone else. I so don’t want to meet my friends or enemies here today. This is Canberra. Four Mall city ( if you don’t count DFO) which I don’t since you need a car. I am never driving one of those things, but that’s a story for another day.
Need to keep focus or I will be at the store and Chicken Run and have to start again next weekend, which will be worse as I will have to go with my mother. She’s a lovely women, but her sense of style is worse then a mall designer. Says the girl in the denim dress. Ok, ok, so it’s not that bad, I just don’t want her fussing over me like a school of cleaner fish. She always has to cop a feel if my boobs too. It’s like she still think I got them done without her knowing. I was a very late bloomer. Didn’t even have a period till I was 17. My boobs came in when I was 18 like mountains that suddenly knew were there place was. It was almost like waking up with a pair of new … We’ll boobs, really.
Because of that I have never really been comfortable about being in this body. It seems like somehow it took over and my mind was all that was left. The whole school used to tease me about being a boy. I even acted like it sometimes. Played the rough games, drank the boy drinks, even managed to make captain of the mixed lacrosse team in my high school. I was thinking about playing in Uni as well soon as class starts in the new year.
I was in the final month of my gap year out of school and now I had to buy a dress. Thats a shock. I used to wear dresses all the time as a young girl. Till I started getting teased about really being a boy. Then I stopped. I went on to develop my style. That’s this. Denim skirt or pants, purse or wallet. Then red leather jacket, green or pastel shirt for winter, white or pale grey for summer with a light grey or pastel skirt. I never could keep on pretending I wasn’t a girl when my boobs came, which is why I kept with the skirts. Despite the teasing I knew I was a girl and the goddess would reward me someday with a wonderful bust. My girls grew pretty quickly and I was always thankful for them.
I was at the store.
My iPod still playing I quickly turned it off. I put it away in my purse and slowly walked into the store. Designer shoes intoe.
I didn’t think this was the right time for this, but when my best friend said he was getting married I had to get a decent dress. It means so much to him that I be there when he gets tied to his love. They are made for each other.
A plumber and a wine merchant, it was a match made in heaven. The one supplied the need for the other. They had met a my very hastily organized 19th birthday in January, and now both of them were madly in love. It was sweet, happy, and they had plenty of cash. It was also A Greek wedding. Heh. The mothers were loving every minute of their kids getting together. They even had iconic names, Adam and Steve. The puns could keep the bank full forever. Gay to be wed friends aside I was I the store and thankfully my thoughts had kept me distracted enough to look at this dress. It was my size. It was new. It was a healthy shade of pastel blue. It was what I needed. Now to get it. That’s the hard part. I hoped I didn’t start crying.