2011 poetry publications

q finger. Chapbook. PressPress, 2011.

Carlsson, Mikael, composer, and Janet Jackson, author. ‘I Am Your Sunlight’. Rainbow Suite, composed by Mikael Carlsson and performed by Haga MottettkOr, MovieScore Media Sweden. CD.

consumable gifts. Chapbook. 2011.

The fringe. Badger’s Dozen, Timothy Train, Melbourne.

Cottonmouth, Perth:
of cut country
With a series of txts we

Creatrix, WA Poets Inc, Perth:
A lark

thin. Tuesday Poem.

necessary. Westerly, vol. 56, no. 1, The University of Western Australia.

Because of the dreams

On reading a biography of Dylan Thomas

If Dylan Thomas
were alive today
Huddled around the tiny fire of his longing
Always wanting to be where he is not
Loving with violent intensity
Altering each poem a hundred times
Carefully editing his letters
Making promises
he’ll never keep
because of the dreams
Regarding through his window
the birds
and the people
Thinking up ways
to have his cake and eat it
Spending his money
on small pleasures

I’d meet him at some festival
recognise myself
and either
fall in love

After that
I’d email him
But he wouldn’t write back
and I wouldn’t know whether
it was because I have no cleavage
because I have no money
or just that
he didn’t get around to it
because of the dreams


Stop me, woman! It is an enormous lie.
He is a dream shadow abutting a languid suit
yet his light feet say they never ache

You watch men heave their rocks & sit chanting together
I eat cool TV love or picture dressed sweat
like breastmilk of my sleep
     like blue moon rain      a smooth summer lake
the skyest beauty

but I was the tiny friend crusher
I shot my puppy
Why? Ask the thousand diamond goddess
She of when forests sing
She who rusts black from worship
     from sad language      spraying      eggy
Her sweet petal beat not played

(Written with the Magnetic Poetry Kit, original edition)

Dear Joe

Dear Joe
This is not a newsletter.
This is not a call for submissions.
This is not an advertisement for flights or medications.
This is not an ancient joke,
or an exhortation
to live each day
as if it’s your last. I don’t want you
to pass this on
to ten other people
to make them feel special.
This is not an invitation
to an open house or a protest rally
or a gig.
This is a letter. Dear Joe.
A computer didn’t fill in your name. I did.
It is addressed specifically to you
and has not been sent
to anyone else.

It’s not fan mail, either,
although I did like that note
you published last week.
I’m not after your advice
or your help
or your money.
There is absolutely no reason
for this message.

I’m sorry if it’s boring, but
there are no attachments,
not even a photo of my cat,
and no links I want you to click on,
although I’ve read a book
that you might enjoy
and my guitar has written
another song
and there’s a new cafe
just down the road
that’d you’d like.

It’s just that
I’m thinking of you.
I want to know how you are,
how your family are,
whether you’re OK,
what you’ve been doing lately that isn’t on Facebook
and I thought you might enjoy reading
a bit of my news.
As I typed this, I imagined you
sitting in your room, at your computer,
or on a bus, reading this message on your phone —
do you have one of those phones yet?
I don’t.
Maybe I should.

I don’t like to say this —
it sounds so needy
and I know you’re busy,
and part of me says I should be dignified, self-contained,
maybe even aloof
but if I don’t take the risk and make it explicit
you might not know.
I miss you.
So would you please take a moment
to send a few lines
and say hi?