Wednesday, May 6, 2009


So I've been working on this poem for quite some time now, since around the start of the year.
In the book, it'll be placed at the start of 'Part III', right after the last part of 'Part II', Mother and Daughter Eternal. So in a lot of ways, it's kind of like a poetic sequel to Mother and Daughter Eternal, but it has a completely different meaning, and utilises completely different subject matter (for the most part).

It's primarily about me opting for a clean slate after some difficulty in Wagga Wagga - with Uni, with work, with a lot of things. It's about me moving to Richmond, recovering my roots, and just starting again. It's different to the last poem I wrote, in that it entails the beginning and not an ending - hence why I've decided to place it at the start of 'Part III' of Days Chasing the Horizon. It's about me putting my all into making this work, but it acknowledges the guidance I've been getting from the people down here, plus one. I wont go into too much detail on the 'plus one' cause it's pretty evident from the poem who I'm talking about. I don't think I'll ever be able to not write about her in some way, shape or form.


I sat on the floor
of my new room, and carved
a circle with my mind:
it soon glowed my favourite
fortuned green (about
the exhuberance of
honey oil)
and billowed in and out
like a beating heart.

Forging a star is
something I've attempted
countless times

(inside one thousand clocks)

but I know
I'll see this one right
through to supernova.

Piece by piece,
I centralised everything
inside me inside it:
every strand of anything.

Then I heard a sudden whisper-
an incantation to set
my outline alight, propel a
world into motion.

I knew she was here,
sitting on the floor
next to me;
but I am
blind to her.
I have been
since September

But I am not
blind to her
soul, and I know
that I have less
time with it than
I did before.


Something between
us ruptured, or
was it rapture
from this minor

And then

You ripped at the string
that was tied to the earth
and night collided
into the day. Can
you see you're scattering a
billion colours around me?

And so she was
catching those miracles
in her ethereal
hands, and casting
into the air
for me to bite into.

But it wasn't bait.
It was a third chance.

I want to say it
wasn't her fault
but all her
Pictures slid in my mind
like all those times
I fell on the ice.

Ah, she knew.
She knew.


It pelted colourful
illusions in my new home
for days and days.
The shifting curtain of rain
cleansed the narrative-stricken
gutters of my street.

I can still hear you in my head.
I still tell you secrets that
I could never tell anyone else.
You are still my confidante.
You are still my best friend.
Even if I'm hated,
I still believe just
as you beleived.

I suppose it's best
if I set free my circle,
into the air that
wraps around The Hawkesbury:
that place that is our origin
(it is still the bluer
dawn of the mountains
and you are
still a glorious garden).

This star will find its place,
just as I will find mine and as
you've already found yours.

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