– Harry and Nicola

Looking down
Clapped out school shoes caked in dirt
Standing on hot clay
The soles of my sweaty feet burn
The sun is everywhere
It bakes the earth under my shoes
It bakes the earth coating my shoes
It bakes my ankles, my legs, my arms, my neck, my brain
I am standing in an oven
I am clay

It’s OK

struggle to inhale, can’t
take a full breath, can’t
stretch, just shallow breaths
don’t fix the craving, can’t
yawn, that reflex, can’t
satisfy, but I force it, can’t
quell the panic

body shouts


i reply

it’s OK

just keep gasping, you’ll survive



– Harry and Nicola

Tackle bears!
Go team
We’ll scream!
Dream big and gamble!
We’ll laugh
We’ll spend our evenings
Boozing and wheezing
’Round the city and stealing
Time from the clock
We’ll go out on yachts
Drive fast cars
Eat the stars
Flip bills at fast women in bars

Shut up, I think
Take your morning dump
In some other heap
This company’s carpet tiles
Are miles from your
Bikini-clad shores
No-one believes you, you twat
No-one wants that
What’s your damage?
Take your ritual and shove it
Find some other tortured habitual


Pick two vowels and use them prominently

– Harry and Nicola

cruel fisted father
used us up then twisted
’til my sister cried.
not missed, you are
not missed.


Pick two vowels and use them prominently

– Harry and Nicola

ache me, like you do
take, what you do
make, what you do
from me, your clay
make me, that way
you do



– Harry and Nicola

I park the car.
A row of windshields
Reflect the neon stop lights.
I stand and my legs creak and stretch
My head above the row of salt stained car roofs.
I’m met by a breeze carrying
Salt, sand, pollen, clay.
We are near a highway and near the ocean.
The last light fades above a row of dark houses.
One stopover before returning to our lives.

This little patch of carpark, growing dim
Is just like the one I sulked in as a child,
Waiting for adults while they shopped,
As children do.
So many moments to absorb.
Car parks. Highways.
Salt, sand, pollen, clay.
Wind blasted holiday motels with names like Pacific Oasis.
Birds mourning the day with their last plaintive cries.

My country is highway,
A stretch of beaches,
A stopover.
The land of my dreams
Stinks like the back of a fish shop.

Your Quieted Koel

You found me once
Cooing like a koel

You gave me
Would you like a cup of teas
Thought of you todays

You gave me
Do you want to come overs
Chin up smiles

You gave me
Bark and red seeds
Waking up the neighbours

You gave me
Somebody worth loving dearly
To give my time and trouble

I’m so happy now
No coo
Rises from me mornings
No plaintive cry escapes me

I’ve exactly what I want
Thank you thank you
You knew just what to give

Your quieted koel


Tuesday roll out of bed and run
Haul jackets on
And fucking run
Hit the side of the bus
Climb in
Face plant the isle
Head butt the window
Hurdle unconscious enamelled
Speed up bus train turnstile get there
Plow keyboards madly
Little plastic letters
Shit it to production
Slam it
The clock says run
Fucking better
A blur beside me shouts HEY
A mess of blond hair shouts HEY
Lips and legs she grabs me HEY
Painful yank and the weight of her drags
I drag her behind
I jab at my watch
I toss my head and look daggers

Her hand is outstretched
Thumb and index finger, touching
Between them, a red seed
I stare at it

I stand with rasping breath

Her hand is outstretched
Thumb and index finger, touching
Between them, a red seed
I stare

She grins at me


My door creaks
When you go away
It moans as you leave
It closes on laughter and light

My eyes close
When you go away
They helplessly hold
The arch of your eyebrow and your reposed form

Your face fades
When you go away
It disintegrates
Into the midnight expanse of my inner eye

My lips smile
When you go away
Each time on that clear cold sky
I find a new star you left behind just for me

The Sweet Breaking

Ticking clocks
Pensive stares
Soft furnishings
Stale airs
Kind dead eyes
Enquiring flatly,
How would you define love exactly?

Latin roots
Desire and care
(He strokes his whitening beard and stares)
Germanic high and old affection

He wrinkles his grey etymology,
Assails my senses with dusty tweed
And bookish curiosity

Well fuck,
I say nervously
Quite a lot of things let’s see

Far away right now I can see
A girl’s fingers busy fumbling and numbing
With a boy’s belt buckle
Their hearts are drumming
Simpatico lust curated by longing
Lust is love, or love is something

Elsewhere presently I see
A drunken shape slowly stumbling
Down a midnight garden path
To a lonely light bulb out the back
And a note bearing a biro heart
In love, stationary plays a part

Somewhere out there I envision
A couple in a sunbeam fools
For an hour
In a tower of pillows
Doing nothing much
But killing a deadline
And repelling an invading to do list
Although nobody expressly said it
Love is procrastination, a bit

Oh, now my mind is resplendent
With a child’s delight
Jumping and jiving in bedtime twilight
Waving sparklers and coloured lights
Objects the extemporaneous girl might receive
From some fatherly figure in on the ploy
To elicit in her this bursting-with-joy
Love is his face weathered and kind
Love is her dazzling, smazzling smile

You asked me to define what I meant by love
And I had a faltering go
But fellow, old man, dear therapist,
There are more definitions than you or I know

The Araboolies of Empathy Street

Does the General of Liberty Street have PTSD?
Did you think of that, Araboolies?
With your kitschy junk and your animal funk
You’re disturbing the General’s sleep!

Sure he’s a mean old guy
And the kids on the street have to hide
But you drove him out of his very own house
Not a chance of a compromise!

I don’t believe in baddies, do you?
Just folks who are singing the blues
So next time you encounter a face that is sour,
Stop and think about what he’s gone through.

I’ll Make Dinner When I’ve Finished Editing Your Smack Down Honey

You take verbage for granite
It’s from a whole nother planet
Let my pronounciation orientate
Let it perculate your state
Let my rhymes sooth ya
Do a Heineken remover
Your ordinance is ostensively miniture
I’m gonna take ostraya nucular
You went to the libary supposably?
Your lyrics prespire, depose of them please
Your point is mute the parlament voted
To be pacific what you got’s a tradgedy
Your granma and speling expecially
With my volumptuous rhyme
This triathlon bitch
I wan it

The Creative Thief

Rounding out the curve of a hip
It takes over it wins for an hour
It steals from you until you come back to waking
This taking
I’m scared of it slipping and making
Me old like my mum charcoal and paper
Clutched in a spotty hand shaking

Tannins Tungs Acrylics

Tannins tungs acrylics and sponges
Big wool rugs and coffee from plungers
Beans slow cooked in a swamp of sauce
Haloumi grilling, jasmine on the porch


Gee three, kerpow, my friends never call me
Forgot their birthdays, took it personally
Kay four, kerblewy, I don’t eat anymore
Reg-u-lar-lee, like my gee pee told me
Kay two, slammo, I wake up impromtu
And perform an act while I lie on my back
In the dark being sunk by lucky attacks
My rag tag fleet’s now a lonely blip
Oh go on life
Sink my battleship


Ah, love sister
Falling, fragile
You knocked on my door and
Told me it’s been raining

Ah, yeah sister
It’s been raining here too
And like you
I know
How much it costs to commit
To ten thousand more rainy days

Ah, sweet sister
I’m happy this secret’s not strange
What? you demand
Why, sister
You know
Just, how we are both so bloody brave

This Love Affair

This love affair is gallery stares
It moves at gallery paces
Wide eyed, bedroom-still
We study each other’s faces

This love affair is a sweet duet
Timed exactly right
Shivering like two strings plucked
Two notes for a warm Spring night

This love affair is the words in a book
Bold and lovingly penned
Unfolding and unfurling
Beginning, middle and end

Inches and Hours

Shifting warmth
Low exposure smiles
Inches apart
Small hour calm

Weights and surfaces
Traversing touches
Faint potentials
A love, made to fit

Scenes, little close ups
Lips, hair, liminal airs
Still lifes in pillow forts
Dimly lit shorts

Between lens changes
Interleaved sensations
Little pockets of time
We film with our eyes

Many Hatted Mad Men

Many hatted mad men,
Absent of certain sensibilities
That you and I gentle reader

What other worlds revolve around ours
That we do not reach for,
That orbit us and spend
Behind our backs and out of our sight.

What Vicious Beast

What vicious beast did you survive
That left you with wounds like that?
What vicious beast pried the warmth from your chest?
What vicious beast did you best?

I’ve fought some too, perhaps not like you
Though I would like to know…

Was it a lost boy with a pale face
Who would trace your streps
Who would silently chase
Who would keep apace
By standing closer every day
Your attentions strayed?