Wearing leopard print makes you look like a two dollar whore who should be on her knees reciting Bukowski with wine stained lips.
Tonight I was one of the blessed few who sidled into Jet Black Cat Music - a darling record store in West End (fuck, I love my community!!) - where performance poets Eleanor Jackson and Betsy Turcot performed their heart and souls out in 'She Stole My Every Rock and Roll' as part of Brisbane's … Continue reading Poetry in a record store (kinda like love in an elevator)
In City South News today #fuckyeahpoetry#
Squandering time. Coiled in cloth like a dead bird, a gasp of pain from my gut.
To the two women I had to listen to at a café today: I don’t want to know about your birthing plan or how the gas helped, even though you didn’t think it would. I don’t want to know about how you pissed and shat yourself and what effect having your baby had on your … Continue reading Mayday
Ten toes stripped, then painted with short strokes. Happy feet.
It's war. It really is. I'm waging war with words and a whole lot of verse, but it's only friendly fire. The idea is that I'll be writing at least a couple of hundred words of poetry every day for the duration of April. I'm also planning to poetry bomb Blackstar - that's right; poetry … Continue reading Poetry Warfare month at Blackstar
After listening to my friend Darren's speech at the Cystic Fibrosis Ball last night, and hearing him regale how his Mum managed to look after two boys, work, cook and do everything that a wonderful Mum does, I had to post this about my own Mum, Jewel. Yes - named after the gem. * Certainty … Continue reading Certainty
Dusting hands on concrete, four bleeding knuckles sting. Gimme some fuckin' elastoplast.