Another Old Poem

Found another oldie, written for Batoto poetry competition (it was a manga / webcomic reading site). It had a theme of seasons and love, if I recall, and there was a limit on the lines / words allowed. I won $10 for it, officially making it the only time I’ve been paid to write, lol.

Has some tense issues, and although I think they were purposeful changes in tense, I guess the reasoning is lost in the reading. Still, the mood of it is conveyed pretty well, so I’d say it’s a success. 🙂



I had a love
when I was young.

It came on slowly,
like threads of spring
disentangling from winter.


it bursts out in colour
the world is beautiful
and you realise
‘Ah, this is love’.

I felt alive and warm
as I marvelled at every smile
took delight in every conversation
cherished every moment spent.

It was spring for years.

But spring gives way to autumn;

Unreciprocated, love grows mellow;
until the cold, creeping in
wins out.

The colours flare then fade;
everything you’d built up slowly falls.

But it is still beautiful
and you can pick up the pieces
preserved in warm and enduring tones
and keep them wrapped up in your heart.

Yes, I had a love once;
but that
was many summers ago.



Nice Guy

Been cleaning up years of accrued computer files, organising and deleting and such. Came across this gem from 2014, fixed some spelling errors, am posting it as is. Because around this time I was still travelling out on public transport a lot, and as we all know, being  a woman in public comes with a ‘no, please, just fucking badger me, gents, I’m so ready to listen to everything you have to say every damn time I step out’.

Nice Guy (22.09.2014)

Don’t be that creep on the train
You wanna tell me to smile more?
For god’s sakes, refrain
I can’t take any more

Talkin’ at me for the whole damn trip
Not noticing my glare
Or more likely knowing I want you to split
But you just don’t effing care

Don’t be

The kinda guy who says ‘sexism’s just your opinion’
Asks for it and promptly refuses to listen
Tells his mates women belong in the kitchen
Then you catch him online bitchin’
How he’s such a ‘nice guy’ so why can’t he get a date?

Mate. -_-



The Muse, On Extended Leave

The Muse, On Extended Leave. (29.10.2017)

The writer sat before the screen
and stared into its light;
And thought and thought
(and thought some more)
though no ideas took flight.

Another day went by, a week
still not a word was written;
The days were dull,
the sleep near null
and the butt was sore from sittin’.

The weeks grew long and longer still
and turned into a year;
Fed up with blues the writer
grabbed their skull
and shouted “Listen here!”

“I beg you, now, you temperamental
fleeting mess of (lack of) inspiration –
I’ve been waiting years
all full of fears
so please return from your vacation!

“I’ve tapped into my unfinished works
I’ve delved deep into my foggy mind;
I’ve fought my block
with food and prompts
and now I’m begging you IN RHYME.

“Give me something here, anything
to work with, just a spark!
A character,
a tired trope
just some small light in the dark.”

The writer then sat back, and huffed
and sighed and jittered in the chair;
Such stagnation’s a crime –
it was about bloody time
there were some new ideas to share!

But, as before, nothing came
excepting this futile internal conversation;
Which isn’t less
than nothing, I guess
but it hardly helps ease the vexation.

The rhythm was a rambling, inconsistent mess
and honestly, the writer was as well;
Sat hunched over a desk
alone with the rest
in the blandest corner of hell.

A Selfish Letter to a Future Lover

Covet me.

Speak my name like a benediction.
Stay me with a gaze of such fierce devotion that I could weep for its intensity.
Love me so completely that I feel it in every fibre of my being.
I want to see the adoration in your eyes.
I want the love that I have spent years trying to kid myself I do not need;
so strong that I scarcely dare believe it,
so true that you will not let me forget it.

Be warm and safe and kind and well-humoured;
enough so as to take these defences,
borne of hardship and betrayal,
and raze them to the ground.
Leave them nothing but ashen silhouettes,
rightful victims of a fiery love
and needless in the wake of cherishment and protection.

Kiss me a thousand ways, until we can speak whole sentences without saying a word.
Touch me with reverence, and tenderness, and passion.
Wrap yourself around me and breathe me in and feel whole and home.
Come alive beneath my touch;
light up for me.

Glow under my praise and attention.
Share with me yourself, your passions, eyes bright with enthusiasm;
divulge your fears, your sorrows, your joys, your dreams.
Oh, light up for me.

That is all I ask of you, Lover:
I want nothing more the unwavering constancy of your love;
I want only all of you and everything that you are.

Because I will love fiercely, completely, irrevocably.
When I fall, I will put all of my faith in your strength of character.

You will hold my fragile heart in your capable hands.

And so,
before you grow careless
(or callous),
and let it slip from your grasp
and shatter into all the pieces that I have remade myself from time and again;
while I have your undivided attention:

Covet me –
As I will covet you.

A Star

I’ve been organising my files on my PC, since they were getting quite unruly after all these years, and I came across something I wrote  in 2014. While I was reading it, I distinctly recalled the way I had felt in that moment; the quiet of the night, the hue of the sky, that particular star I could see from my desk; the kind of hope that you can only feel after too many hours awake and ruminating on your place in the world.

I don’t think I ever posted it, because I don’t think I considered it worth reading. But having stumbled across it now, I quite like it, so I’m sharing it here.


A Star

Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I find myself staring out my window at one particular star. It isn’t the brightest one in the sky, but it is there, night after night, flickering wildly. I watch it flicker, and every night I think ‘will this be the night that it flares and dies?’

But no, the night that it flares and dies is many millions of years ago, probably. Probably, it will continue to flicker in the night sky, looked upon by my great great great grand nieces and nephews. Looked upon by people on other planets in our solar system, or from within the sparse atmosphere of space.

Every time I look at that star, I think, does it flare brightly to prove its existence? Is it crying ‘look at me! I am here! I burn bright and fierce! I am alive!’

Or does it flicker with uncertainty? ‘I am here. I know who I am. Could I be more? Am I bright enough? Does anybody see me?’

Does it flicker in the face of death? Defiant? Fighting against the darkness, losing strength, desperately clinging to existence?

What kind of star is it?

Why should it stand out to me, surrounded as it is by other stars in an overfull sky and yet so removed from every one of them?

But it always comes down to this:

It doesn’t matter what kind of star it is. It doesn’t matter that it is alone in its patch of sky.  It doesn’t matter if it fights death, or burns with life, or flickers with uncertainty; it still shines, a tumultuous, violent flame that blinks small but bright in distant skies.  If you look, you can still see it, and it is still a star. And when it dies, flares up one last time and its echoes finally reach our skies, it will still have been a star.

And a star is an astonishing and miraculous thing to be.