Down at Bar 52

Down at Bar 52


You don’t want to hear it.

Quaint women’s things

lotioned into the air

vanilla perfume emanating

declaring her woman-ness

god that’s dull

but you’d fuck her in a heartbeat

the moment’s there

Shhh her opinion

Shhh her telephone number

just get down to it, a hate-fuck

pure hate

so much it nearly asphyxiates you

a rock star way to go

and then

that stupid mustache

screaming microphone feedback


is distilled into one sentence

“I didn’t spend $50 on cocktails for a handshake”.



Look up.


Aquarius shrugs

empties his urn of stars.


Take in the dark.


The moon, air in his cheeks

floats to us

lights the kebab Shop tussle

a teen in the gutter

nose bleeding

blooming carnation

gardens, a pergola aglow in the 1am silver of summer

where the homeless stretch out and behind

the Crown bar

blue-lit love is mojitos and One Fifty Lashes.


Keep up girl.


A grimace of police on the train,

interconnecting steel pellets greet the platforms

a diesel hiss, we are shy travelers, Saturday night

on public transport is sketchy for women

in any town, in any dress, there is always that one man (or group)

with the black Adidas bag, slick look, sweat smell

greased and ready

we ignore to avoid violence.

“Oi sluts!”


Stay in your own orbit.


The walk home quickens like breath

over there – with the blue denim cutoffs

house keys between her fingers

she empties her stomach behind the parked car.


Look away.


Women are taught to love and fear dicks

because fear breeds obedience

it is easier to sell Prada to obedient women.


Look up

(you begin to wonder if progress happens)

Andromeda with a bow


Orion’s chalk outline on the interstellar tar.

Wollongong Weed

Wollongong Weed


Weeds hissing out of the paver spaces

Medusa snakes of dandelion – the yellow

stones me, I lie

with wrists up

brave lilies

somewhere a church crows three times

its stained glass windows have bars

it’s fast

becoming a city like that

blunt knife streets spill ice heads

picking taut fights

bugs from under their skin


shady hotel lights – I’ve found

every kind of joy or

loneliness but the now now now

of passing white eyes

that Commodore you poured me into

brings me back to feeling

from that part of myself

that lies

on Kembla St asphalt

wondering why the pills don’t work

a road kill carcass

causing passing motorists to temporarily face mortality

on their Macca’s run.


Hiatus Poems

(This post is pinned, new content will appear below)

Hello Kidlets!

Long time no post anything. Well, I’m not going to make excuses but… let’s just say that if I was hypothetically previously working for a company that was hypothetically over-sensitive about their image, then I would have hypothetically stopped posting things that may be viewed as damaging to that company’s precious ‘brand’, in order to continue being employed and you know, pay my rent. Frustrating, but that’s how the real world works. Sometimes you have to put survival ahead of art. A Van Gogh I ain’t (apparently dude ate paint at one stage? Seems far-fetched but who knows – artists be wack yo).

However, I didn’t stop writing. I had a break to finish my degree but words poked through here and there. Did I mention I work at a library now? They are more laid back, and literature is kinda a thing with them, ya know?

So I’m back; I’ve finished my degree and I guess I’m a qualified librarian now? Or I will be when they announce results and I (hopefully) pass and (hopefully) graduate. The point is, I have free time and I’m planning to use it wisely – but consistency isn’t my strong suit so we’ll see.

So here’s what I’ve been working on (or wrote and left on my desktop for months)!

I hope you’re all well,

Peace out xx


Site got a re-vamp too, that old thing was so 2012. Yes, I know it’s a free theme – shut up I’m poor.



As with poems, you can be as free as you like

or as restricted as you like – just say the thing


like walking on water or some other miracle of a saint

I don’t believe in.

I tell you I don’t want children. Ever.

You’re not prepared for a nappy-less existence

that is that – goodbye

it’s not a tongue twister

it’s not a breath mint

I do not want marriage. Ever.

You’ve said you always wanted a bride

in a church, with a veil and all those dumb flowers

you’re not whole without it (which I think is stupid)

so you say the thing – goodbye

As with poems, it’s hard to know when it’s done

but words are a start, the feeling will come

like ice you roll on your tongue until it gets smaller

goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

John Tranter

I’ve been reading a lot of John Tranter lately as part of a series I’m working on. It involves taking a line from a poem that speaks to you and responding to it. I’m currently working on a response to the line “love is endless oil” from the poem Benzedrine by John Tranter from his book Urban Myths. Here’s a draft of the first stanza.