the Fitzroy Flasher

art and ideas: photos and words: mainly and sometimes.

Bring back the old days: When we had progress going for us Idealised hope for inclusivity Cos we knew more and thought more And saw the world of difference and embraced it And I was sorely mistaken: I thought you embraced me Yet your arms fell to your side and my body slipped away And I fell …

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Sleep-ins foil good intentions As the sun gives rise and servitude to Christmas Day I flick the kettle on and spy The sacrificial honeyed ham In an overloaded fridge That strains to cool the Offerings that hours later Will fill a lace tablecloth And the good plates And the Tupperware And landfill And… My spiral …

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How many memories begin with Cicadas, Or dancing Santa’s deflating to bend double, Kissing dirt whilst reindeers staunchly idle, And lawn mowers hit gum nuts that crackle, And the grass smells fresh and sweet. A Christmas cacophony good enough to eat.

Delivered hard, In short words, And long pauses. To my surprise She’s caught me: Full headlights Frayed rope Doe eyes and Misplaced passion. A photogenic instant, Outside of any comfort: My abandoned hope A heated cattle prong A silent fear, this swan song. That I think will end me. I want to hear ‘I love …

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December 7, 2018

Like mildew on leather

I was musty with trust

That antecedent

Precursive verse –

Of the unknown:

We laughed, I was laughing

Weathering busty stances

A rocking horse

A silhouette

The shadows danced

As shadows do

Must settling

Trust too

Like angel dust

On every surface.


December 2, 2018

A construct of exchange is in my pocket

They say it burns a hole and so it seems

It scorches the landscape of my fingers

And as I deftly touch count the amount

Of loose change I have for an ‘avo’ on toast’

I come across a scene you couldn’t dream of.

And I realise that I revere this evil curse,

But even worse, that I’ve failed to see,

You cannot return wood to a tree.






Six Pack

November 28, 2018

A six pack of Canadians

On the side of the road

One can out and open

He gently lays it down

And straightens to walk

With an uneasy swagger

His tobacco red fingers

On tobacco grey beard

And on his face anger

I grudgingly approach

And our eyes meet

So I nod and he smiles

His faint strength shames

Me and my passive evasion.


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