Haiku can’t do 

I was running late to meet a friend and so he asked me to write him a haiku to repay him. Wrote a few. Captured moments in nature at least, nevermind the not quite haiku structure…

Slithering through gushing streams
of bus(y)ness fish against the steadfast flow
Stirring the current below

Time is but a mere grain of sand
spilling through crystallised chambers
constructed by human’s desire for control

Gold dress seams re-pressed tighter than the original box shape
into an hour glass
slipped into a midnight silhouette

Chain Links

Just for the fun of it I thought I mix in some lines from a couple of my latest poems into this piece. Going to leave it as a Where’s Wally search. So if you pick ’em, thank you and good on you for keeping up to date with my poems!

Hey, you, pssst,
yeah, you,
come along, on this journey,
won’t you join me?

Let your burning heart breathe

play your inner songs loud

fill every blank page
with black ink

cry when it wells up

laugh when you’re amused

stop worrying so much,
we’ll all be dead soon enough

if all your pieces shatter
maybe there were already cracks
in a mask you didn’t even know
you were wearing,

breaking the mask apart
gives you a chance to superglue
yourself back together

this time without
the rotting thoughts
like dying flowers trapped inside
a dry vase,

rip your flesh apart,
tear it off,
reveal bare bones
and smooth skin,

expose the fresh soil,
let the fertiliser seep in,

just because it’s unprovoked
doesn’t mean it’s not a revolt,

So when logic tells you
to cluster
all your hopes inside a jar
and to tighten the lid

don’t you dare listen,

repression is the real beast that’ll kill us off,
only if we let it,
only if we let it,

all the glitter and gore will
bubble to the surface

over time, under pressure,

so pour it out before
it all rots and spills all soggy and slimy upon your
tiled floor plans

Stillness in a sandstorm

Come and surrender
your sandstorm mind,
your chaos can’t touch me,
I’ll stay by your side,
come and surrender,
all your tender lines,
it’s a hard world out there,
don’t let the dark worlds
seep inside,
they wanna plant
their lost seeds
your lost mind,
creeping thought weeds
bloom in the cracks of your
shaken heart
they hide
behind a beautiful disguise
but these seeds fall from shadows
not the sunlight
and you’re a sunflower,
you’re a sunflower
with smooth yellow petals
and a fuzzy inside,
don’t let the dark worlds leak
into your mind
don’t let the shadows swallow
all your light,
you already know this,
but I’ll tell you again,
you cannot disguise fear as a victory dance

Listen to the rhythm of the beat

Excerpt from a longer piece I’m working on… 

there’s no destination in love,
mutual understanding is a
continuous passage
through time, across space,
untouchable, unseeable
it can only be felt
but can only survive if shared
holding onto love’s tenderness
sucks the life out of its pureness
but it doesn’t disappear
it festers and shakes you
and weighs you down,
withering the palpable connection,
until you set it free
until you let it breathe
*ca-thump ca-thump ca-thump
ca-thump ca-thump*

transcendental panacea 

I find it in bare-feet 
through freshly cut grass,
my toes mush into the green hairs of the earth
as I outstretch my hand to the bookshelves nestled in grassy mountains
with books stooped high,

I surrender into Francis Hodgson-Burnett’s circle of safety,
amongst Sarah’s imagination-filled attic,

I draw out the Neverending Story on the days I can’t handle my mind,
and I try to pull Artax out of the Swamp of Sadness,
in the hope that I’ll inadvertently rescue myself,

I join Momo,
chasing through grey streets and tall grey men that stand like walls
in my head,
peering down at me with furrowed brows,
rapture engulfs me,
time eludes me,

I swing amongst the treetops and branches with Tarzan,
leafing through the storybooks that refract my confusions
and diffuse my illusory fears and obstacles
into multi-coloured particles
that transmogrify into awaiting adventures,

I rummage through the stacks upon stacks upon stacks,
I draw out Harwood, Auden, Rosetti, T.S. Eliot and Yeats,
therein lies my feast,
my comfort,
my sanctuary,
whereupon I first learned how to read my heart beats,
where I first discovered I could trace every wrinkle on every face
through the magic of broken syllab-
and trailing stanzas,
personified feelings and desires,
allegorical transformations of civilian observations and experiences,
and pluck out each metaphor in fine detail,
where texture and colour are constructed through dancing words on a plain-printed page,
exploring every deeply hidden wonder I’ve ever considered,

where I learned how to set a garden on fire
without singeing a single flower,
as to leave a trail of ashes like stardust
without the negligence of disintegration,

for I have gained, oh I have gained
a juicy, often forsaken, fruit that spills the nectar
that feeds my soul and reminds me that I can be, just me,
and that that is more than just fine,
it is wonderful and miraculous,

I find the familiar in dissecting the yet-to-be-known and the unknowable,
flourishing along the yellow brick road
Dorothy couldn’t seem to uncover,

I forage through the bushes,
peek at the flowerbeds,
and sip the water that trickles
between jagged rocks,
discovering and rediscovering,
refining and redefining
my own personal Wizard of Oz,

I find sanctuaries between stanzas,
where my mind starts to wander,

I leap and laugh behind Prufrock,
I’m learning there’s so much to grasp onto within ourselves before we can reach for the external,
so perhaps there is a silver lining
to be the crab on the floor of the deep blue,
at least temporarily,
that doesn’t cling onto any barnacle or weed,
free of external weight and responsibilities,
only to find our humanity, nestled in humility,
to find one’s true voice first,

my soul becomes your soul
and his soul and her soul
and we all become one,
through words that paint giant birds with rainbow beaks
and glitter between their feathers
and draw outstretched wings that span across deserts and oceans,

“where dreams drip to stone” in Harwood’s garden,
as Auden wonders about The Quest,
to go beyond one’s social conditioning
rendered through a scattered upbringing,

this realm of the imaginary is of the real, it is what saves us
from ourselves
and stops us from throwing questions and lies
at the ceiling fan
testing whether the shards of our souls will lodge into another
so that we won’t have to suffer alone,

so here I sit upon an unmade bed, cradling the rare hot dinner,
in a crinkled blouse,
treading sand-scattered floorboards,
peering at the smudges of make up and specks of hairspray across the mirror,
mold encrusting the dripping tap,
dirt on the soles of my shoes, chipped nose of my skateboard, broken shoelaces tied together in a series of unruly knots,
rips in my t-shirts,
split ends in my hair,

here, I dread that if everything were in order and everything were “in place”,
I’d find an imperfect way that there was something wrong with this space.

I find home every time I release the material-present
and transcend into the breadth
of my kaleidoscope eyes and the jungle in my mind,
infused with folklore and Grimm fairy tales,

I am my own Frankenstein creation,
I can feel the floorboards throbbing, containing all the heart beats I have intercepted and those that I no longer dwell in,
I am of the crowd, not in it,
I am the modern flaneur,
I am the librarian of my soul,
and the gardener of my heart,
I am the force of my own fury,
nothing more, nothing less.

Propellor Blade People

Civilisation is the mere manifestation of our fears of boundless uncertainty

the concrete streets don’t care if you make it,
the concrete doesn’t care if you trip and fall over,
it’ll even scratch and bruise you,

repression is the beast that’ll kill us all off,
if we let it,

humanity is the salve that was there before the walls,
humanity is nature illuminated, animated,
nature’ll soothe your wounds through
the endless valleys and mountains cascading
upon the ever-shifting tectonics
which mimic the human mind,

Scattered. Shifting. Unpredictable. Constant movement. Expanding. Reverting. Reacting. Creating. 

to be lost in a world that demands you to sit still and whisper when you want to scream
is to know
that there is chaos around you because it is within you,

repression is the real beast that’ll kill us all off,
if we let it,

each of us is a symphony orchestra charging
through the concrete streets
and high rise buildings,

don’t let fear become your conductor,
don’t let another human (disguised in a suit) dictate
your every motion,
every thought and
every notion,

’tis a sign of great valour
to carry one’s own.

draw that baton, change direction, alter the pace, at any time,
follow the direction your soul is compelling you to take.

you won’t find yourself in a full wallet,
I already checked there.
you won’t find yourself underneath a uniform,
I already tried that.
you won’t find peace under someone else’s doorstep,
I already checked.

you’ll only find stillness once you accept chaos,
you’ll only reach forgiveness once you embrace love,
you’ll only grow from understanding
by observing without expecting, attaching or judging what ever the thing before you may be.

(don’t go about building walls and cement footpaths,
just in case, just in case,
you change your mind)


A flickering light.
So close,
above me.  

I grasp and reach for it,
heave and leap at it,

just a fingertip
away now
from the sun that burns
a hole
into this nest
that I climbed into long ago,

I clamber up the dry,
forgotten walls,

the light beaming,
engulfing the shadows,
dancing with the dust ghosts,

this nest is
rumbling and grumbling,
spitting and stewing,
a quake in the making,
falling rocks,
crumbling into
a shower of dust.

A fresh new soul
emerges from the earth and rubble.

Unlatch the hinges

Welcome to your very own sacred imaginarium…

Here is a place
where your heart can rest,

this chest is full of treasures,
just out of sight but not out of reach,

where I promise, you can surrender your restless mind
at least for the night,

this place is non-physical,
this place is always available, and free of cost,

an internal shelter
with the richest treasure you’ll ever discover,

and the beauty of it is that it’s all yours,

yours to keep,
yours forever,
to seek, to enter,


whenever you need some time to stop for a moment,
just to breathe,
to reflect and recollect,

the key is right there before you,

in this chest you’ll find gems richer than the earth itself,
diamonds and charms more valuable than anything you can purchase,

in this inner sanctuary
buried deep are
the unshelled memories
that we all carry around, burrowed inside,
along with fragments of beautiful souls we’ve crossed paths with over time,

here, you’ll find unpolished jars,
carrying untouched glances,
unspoken words,
and words you wish you could suck back,
and those moments that felt like the whole world momentarily stopped,

coloured with ecstasy-filled breaths,
riddled with the memories of heart-wrenching pain,

passionate conversations
and sweaty nights in the wintertime,

nestled within this chest of sensations and ideas
are those golden grins,
those unique opinions,
all the many ways of living,
and different eyes upon the world,

that you get to keep and listen to,

those deep-bellied laughs,

those wild nights we always seem to pack a week’s worth of adventures into,

those late night skinny-dips,
just us and the moon.

How about those unclenched dreams,
it’s never too late to go catch ’em,
to start with just one,
right here, in this space,
you never know what may unfurl
when you harmonise your day-to-day with
the beat of your heart and the vision of your mind’s-eye,

may as well cease the best view,
it’s free, but it takes time,
so allow this chest to stay open,

unlatch the hinges,
throw away the key,
and revel in all of your inner treasures

Learning to float

I got up and looked in the mirror today,
eyes squinting in the sunlight piercing through the slits in the blinds,

the shape of a bird forms in the corner of my eye;
gold beak like the backs of your teeth,
and two blue crescent moons glimmering back at me,
its feathers preened and delicate,

I draw the string
flooding the room with the shower of morning

I pry each eye open,
press a contact lens onto each pupil,

…the bird has gone missing

the day passes after the other and another that you haven’t come back,

there’s more shade than sunlight now,
still, you don’t return

so it’s beginning to settle-in
that you’re no longer here,

I can’t pry my eyes open any wider,
but I can feel you nearby,

perhaps behind all the grime on this reflective surface,

or maybe it’ll help if I close my eyes,

here goes then,

teach me the silence,
I want to hear the birds tweeting

teach me how to tread,
as to avoid tripping over

teach me the veins of life through the leaves,
I want to trace the fighting genes of a seedling

there are flashes of gold in the glass before me,
is that you,
is that you?

teach me the routes of the trees and plants,
I want to carve my own path

teach me the origins of the soil, the sand and the dust,
I want to embellish this journey with the earth’s confetti

teach me the ocean,
I want to feel its salty breath on my flesh

teach me the ways of the wind,
I can’t keep thrashing against it

I want to get away
I want to get away
from myself

teach me the art of calm,
when the storm is billowing outside

teach me surrender
teach me patience
teach me softness

teach me how to breathe,
I’m choking

teach me
how to be
even when the sea churns
and we’re bobbing on the surface
unrested and uneasy

feathers are falling in the dust around me
is that you,
is that you?

our spines bend and creak
like a mast

teach me how to tac, as to avoid hurling overboard

teach me how to unravel sails
and tighten them fast

teach me the knots,
both the intricate and the quick ones

teach me an escape route
(my mind just won’t settle and)
you seem to be an expert (at escaping)

Can You Hear Something Rattling?

She syncopated her scream into an echo,
made life look like she just leapt out of a vacuum,
as if the effect were the cause
and there were no preceding lessons,
made the world believe she
fell from the clouds
so that the world couldn’t
knock her down
than she’d already fallen,

isn’t that what the world demands
of us anyway,
expecting us to be whole and complete,

seems as though people can’t stand change
beit defeat or renewal,
but when you hold people to their past,
you never see who they really are

life alterations are often borne out of necessity,
rarely the chosen journey,

it seems that unless it occurs in silence,
we’re taught never to rise or crumble before the eyes of others,

so we tuck so much away,
revealing our full-selves
only behind closed doors,

eager to present a polished
final product
once we step outside,
but so many of us
never step outside,

we hold on for so long
that the dreams we store
in the safe
diminish in value,

the pain we hold onto
begins to rot our innards
and tarnish the windowpanes
we peer out of at the world,

it’s okay to break down
you can’t bottle it all up for so long,
its okay to show your teeth
to the glaring eyes of public scrutiny

just because it’s unprovoked
doesn’t mean it’s not a revolt

the heart and the soul
feed into the brain,
but the lines often get tangled
and the signals misconstrued.

So when logic tells you
to cluster all your hopes inside
a jar and tighten the lid,

when the noise is rattling your skull like a cyclone
you already know you don’t stand a chance of keeping it in,

your innards’ll twist in
all kinds of unnatural shapes
until it all bursts and spews out anyway