From the roots of the grass

Melbourne is my home,

at least for now,

I’m a full-time day dreamer

with my feet firmly planted on this ground,

still a little all over the place,

a little off kilter,

I like a place that has secrets and hidden treasures

in unknown corners,

and people that smile as they walk by

and strangers that are down for deep conversations

and old friends that get you without having to explain yourself,

and flings that unfurl in any season,

and that long-term lover that weaves in and out of your years as you do through theirs,

Sunsets by the beach

Trams that screech

Bustling streets

Rainbow dresses

girls with sleeves

boys with long hair, short hair, no hair, dont care,

I like it when taboos juxtapose the main streets,

and renowned musicians busk on the streets

where busy-ness people stop and watch in awe,

I live for spontaneous adventures,

Climbing cranes

as high as six-storey buildings

in the forbidden night hours,

Sunset walks home from work,

Green-grass and flower-filled parks,

Slamming our poems in attic-bars

and basement studios

and dance halls

and friends’ backyards,

Idea-driven discussions

and drinking the syrup of imagination,

Stretching into downward dog,

Swimming laps before breakfast,

Sipping Sailor Jerry’s and ginger-ale,

while watching a live J Dilla rendition in a private bar from a public balcony,

To the people who squat under abandoned roofs

and make music

and drawings

and jewellery

and graffiti art,

to those who run second-hand bookstores and public libraries

and public art installations,

Laneway markets and local artists,

Conscious local businesses

and local publishers,

To those who work from the roots of the grass,

and those who bloom from the seedlings they plant,

People who bolt swings made from an abandoned fire hose to the ceiling of a ramshackle warehouse,

People that volunteer for a cause they care about,

People that are helping the people on the streets,

People that are kind

and generous

and playful

and adventurous,

walking by sunflowers sprouting from communal gardens

built for those who don’t have a garden of their own,

People who volunteer to share their skills and wisdom

at cafes and bike sheds,

universities and libraries,

People that give hope

and support

and patience,

To the talented dreamers

with the perseverance of Pharlap,

To the people that sustain legacies,

To the sun worshippers,

and those who sleep in,

To those with poor time-management

and those who are well-organised,

To those who work 80-hour-weeks

and those who are unemployed but are working on their dreams,

and to those who juggle both,

To those who educate themselves,

To those who’ve found their niche

and those who are still looking,

To those who feel like they don’t belong anywhere,

I promise

One day

You will find


And those who pioneer pockets of the community,

To the immigrants, travellers, refugees, interstate movers, endless nomads, the wanderers and the gypsies and those who grew up here,

This city is a beaming beacon that pulls you in,

kisses your forehead

and gives you a platform to be who you’ve always been.

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