Potted Lemon Tree

Faded, Yellow cracked render wall

Tangerine lemon scented buds

grace the air not held

by vase at all


Non-descript gentle, waving

collecting micro droplets glisten

stems and foliage reach out



Diving into bark encrusted,

vital dark earthy brown

soil a pool of earth is dusted


There it is, the potted Lemon tree

a mini inquisitive Yoda

picture frozen in a gallery

Matildas Fury

Parts of you are made with the iron hammers of battle, wrought in twisting matrices of steel history – might and wrath set in your metallic form – old memories expressed

Cylinders hammering with the determined grit of sailors heaving oak through crashing waves, christened with the morning mist, ploughing through the air like a glimmering mace held high

Your many tiered grills glare like unwinking soldiers eyes from under studded helmets – spokes and baffles, pegs and riveted plate – sturdy armour that greets the baleful gravel foe

Smashing like spiked fists to stone walls and doors, splintering the glittering spears arrayed, slicing through layers of determined defence you swoop with leather saddled might

Arching, swerving, storming, thundering – you call on ancient powers and hold within heat hardened cauldrons, insatiable demands

Bush trails

time and weather have cut through your splendor – tracks

are winding their way through like the many fingered hands of your Gums;

their capped, green swelling buds swaying in gentle rhythm…

like those fire cracker moments they explode into colour – a rainbow feast.

These graded trails offer treasures to the senses for the traveller –

a hidden water fall, a sudden vista or just the comforting crunch of foot (fall.)

There it is! lying on the bush trail – now a memory, nobbly fingers (pointing)

to the throbbing life that was – wise wizened, gnarled and ruddy the fallen

junctures hold a map to lost treasure just like the many paths now here.





She thinks like morning multi-vs and cuts through the confusion.

He turns the newspapers pages and checkmates the weather.

Coffee machine punctuates the cutlery clutter

… each new service bringing with it delicious smells

– – their eyes link – – –

swirling, deep, still – pools over the cacophony.



When dangerous ideas collide

Hulking battleships glide across the stary night sky

scanning, searching – grid by grid the planets arrayed in their paths …

Heros in trouble explode through steaming, rusting hulks

– into chasms that reflect saber slash and phaser blast –

we are in a dark room with dust swirling in cinematic lighting, exploring the depths of your mind..


Waters deliciously cool cross-section buffets and slaps,

legs anchored softly in sandbank.

The same sweet silver stream bubbles around sore ankles

– rocky mountain brook.

Excited yelps echoe and cut through the thick fuzzy barked tree trunks

– shadowing exultant green, straining translucent shoots!

We are now out, free in the breeze, toes dabbling in your minds cooler currents …



Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what they have done has been done in the sight of God.

John 3:20-21 NIV

the joker escapes



just vacated – swinging door still slamming backwards and forwards another cascaded, lonely, soul wrenching, blank dead end!


the trail leads like a waterfall to the inevitable, frustratingly hopeless, unsatisfactory conclusion…

the joker escapes.

Like a feeling you can’t describe, a presence you can’t pin down – his ghastly pale face and pointed red snarling smile will haunt your waking mind …

the joker escapes!