Category Poetry

The New Connection

People today use their cell-phones way too much. They are busy all the time. You see their mouths move animatedly while they are driving. They don’t stop at pedestrian-crossings; they go in the wrong direction on one-way streets. In the office tuck-shop workers satiate their eyes with someone else’s lunch on Instagram. Across the table, […]

The Writer

On Tram 48, running from Balwyn North to Victoria Harbour Docklands, where all the footy bums come on-board, enroute to the stadium, there is one who has a large-screen cellphone in which she uses to write, from stop to stop. She touches upon the alphabets, without obvious hesitation, quickly, her thumbs tip-toeing across the keyboard, […]

Retreat

I love being in your study, where I hate to move, lest I upset anything, as on an autumnal day, I never want to tread upon a fallen leaf, or change the play of light on branches of yellow and red. The chocolate-brown valet belongs right there against moon-white walls; your chair hasn’t been used, […]

Thomas

I got off the city-tram last night, and turned up a narrow alley-way, that led to the bus-stop for my connecting ride home. The doors to coffee-shops were closed; a black umbrella lay broken in one corner; and on the concrete ground was imbedded a message of the heart. Somebody loved somebody who loved her […]

Dark

What pleasure there is in sitting up on the couch in the small hours of the morning, sipping hot milk, looking out the window, where strings of orange bulbs on the horizon gleam like self-assurance, reading Whitman’s sublime Leaves of Grass, steeped in Chopin’s sweet Nocturnes, watching doctors on the silent tv fight to save […]

Leaves

Out amongst the branches The lovers are in bed He shuffles with sibilance Beneath the covers to lie on her Her bare legs spread into place His shoulders envelop her body The airborne bed rocking gently the stillness of dark In the quiet the suburb sleeps below their act, as Waves of street-lamps bend over […]

Melbourne

1. At 6 o’clock in a city tavern On Wednesday evening the autumnal air was frigid When will you light the open-fire I asked the attendant In June, he replied 2. It was $4 a bunch yesterday I say pointing at the $6 chard To the middle-aged shopkeeper I was 18 yesterday, she says. I […]