Thursday, June 24, 2010

Serfing my Liege

Edward "Ted" Kidson-Lord 5/8/1938-14/5/2007

When first I come home each night
It is your face I see
Your photo displayed prominently
You behind a mic where you belong
And I remember

When I go into my study
I see the painting you gave me
A nude, of course,
Some water colour detail
A female behind, prominent lips
Of a cunt displayed
And I remember

The painter, as well as the poet
The sculptor, too
The guiding hand for so many like me
Mentor and friend
And I remember

And think of memories shared
Of butterflies and ants
Of the power of words
Of a heart so physically fragile
And so spiritually strong
A hand held out to one
Just finding his way
And I remember

That poetry is alive and well
In Melbourne
And among the reasons for this
It is you who should be forever numbered
For what am I but your legacy
Another hand to hold a torch
With your grip imprinted on the handle
In all that I do I honour you
And I remember

With thanks, with respect
And with love
And hold you within me

I will remember

Thursday, June 17, 2010

ships in the night, trams in the evening (1998)

Note: first poem I ever read on stage, in December 1998

You sit across from me on the tram and return my smile
I watch you

Your eyes
No cliched comparison to limpid pools in the moonlight
Just a lovely pale blue
I study your hair
Watch it flow down past your shoulders
You reach up and tuck it back behind one delicate ear
And I see the elegant line of your jaw
And the exquisite curve of your neck
I watch the play of tendons beneath the pale skin as you turn to look around you
My mouth waters at the sight of the indentations along the line of your collar bones

Our eyes meet
Understanding passes
No words are spoken

I lean forward to kiss the depression at the base of your throat
The tip of my tongue, as if a herald to their arrival
Reaching you just before my lips
I bite gently on your neck, just beneath the jaw line
Breathe softly into your ear as I inhale your scent
And finally kiss your lips

Heat, moisture
A delicate pressure
We are not as starved animals at a fresh kill
Just two new lovers gently communicating desire

We reach your stop and you leave

You had not noticed me as you read your book
And I go home

Alone in my timidity

Friday, June 4, 2010


I am wondering how to
Reach you
I am wondering how I
For want of a better
More meaningful
May hold your attention

And then I wonder
I should do so
And how to make
Deserving of it
And what I will
When I have it

I can entertain
I can spin tales
Love, hate

But how do I make
Mean anything more than
Spent politely

To me