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Defining horizons

  • 6 March 2020
The memory and the dream are one and the samea phantom limb that I would break my own…
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Aperture/Closure

  • 25 July 2017
I. It’s been one of those nights when sleep escapes and in its wake these words that race,…
ttravel
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City love (and lack thereof)

  • 4 July 2017
There are lots of things I love about you, Sydney. I love your dazzling waterfronts, stretching out from the Sydney…
iidentity
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Trains, Platform 29

  • 10 May 2016
Lately I’ve been spending time alone on the train, with the trains inside this mind where I am surrounded…
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The opposite of vertigo

  • 3 February 2016
The opposite of vertigo Is your wings poised for flight and your feet stuck in cement; Is the skyward pull that makes you ill to be on the ground. Gravity versus your dreams. The opposite of vertigo Is conversations about the weather and getting angry at traffic; Is display windows taunting you with things that won’t make you happy. You can see right through them. From the pit of your stomach to the tip of your tongue the air here’s thick, swallows up inspiration. The opposite of vertigo Is the sickening sensation of settling; Is being shackled when you should be airborne. The opposite of vertigo Is the curse of those who come down from altitude; Is the Icarus in you and me.
ffaith
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Out of Egypt

  • 27 July 2015
Draw me out of stormy water My first breath is marked by grace Make me someone else’s daughter Heart that doesn’t match its face There is a blueprint to my heart Chase it up my family tree Peel away this royal mask Disarmed, now trace me back to Eve Fire within and it consumes me Lift my hand, in for the kill Fire before my eyes I see Instantly the world falls still Pack my bags and leave the road Suddenly I’m homeward bound Might and mercy that was showed A destiny, a new hope found Even pain it had a purpose Rejection taught me who to trust Didn't see it at the time The diamonds being formed from dust Here before this multitude Seas will part and nations fall Incongruent heart refreshed, renewed Tuned in to the celestial call
wwork
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Victor

  • 11 June 2015
I. It was perfect in a bittersweet way The overcast day The fresh flowers The waiting The shades of black and grey The Padre Nuestro The father’s chanting II. They ushered him through a maze of flagstones well-polished by the varnish of water and the heavy footsteps of generations of mourners. For fifty pesos a stranger sang as we showered him with rose petals and rain. Amidst her wailing and her brothers’ silent despair and the cement mixed and laid thick to immortalise him, the sky stops crying and its blue eyes blink and I, for a moment, stare into eternity, into sorrow, into loss, into hope. Avenues upon avenues of memories in this city of the departed; yards and yards of carnations doing their best to defy time - but who can resist? Grief made her embrace linger, made us angels without wings, and stranded on earth, but angels nonetheless. III. Another Padre Nuestro Another sigh Another moment without him The first of too many.