When the forest calls

living, noteworthy, photography, travel








peace x






A Land Truly Girt

living, loving, photography, rhymes and rhythm


I met this white man once in Europe, and have since kept him recessed online

to remind me why I think the way I think,

and respect those who I respect,

and revile those

whose words, spat with poison and written in blood

inject hatred, aggression and ignorance into Life.

It detracts from the discourse, the joy of the commune, so it’s time for simple poetry to address the malignancy of fear.



A Land Truly Girt


Shall I remind thee, human

Of our tiny tormented Blue Dot?

Should I iterate that irritations in noses get covered in snot?

Bear with me child;

Collective consciousness is just an airway

and racist dust does not last long; empty cells at the top of a stairway.


In this way you create your own prison

And scream at others to join you inside

Well, I’d much rather breathe in my Freedom

Having power with love in my stride.


See the movement of minds that are more than just matter

Overshadow the shallow dark waters you taint

and they’re cast from a mould that is forged in a mettle

where the torch is so strong that your image is faint

Overcast by the beings who soar high above you

you’re alone with your hatred in shadow on earth

For great heat dissipation takes place when damnation

grows a xenophobe mind in a being since birth.


Malignancy in tongue is more than cancerous to mind

You cannot sit with poison and expect all else to hurt

You’re blessed with eyes and ears and voice but use them all to bind

what could have been a resource in a land that’s truly Girt.


Til you find me one more planet to inhabit as a human

We are all a refugee and cling to life on the crumbling crust.

And these solid plates of agar, floating colonies on liquid

have been moving since Gondwanaland divided up in trust.

This behaviour’s kin to yelling at tectonics down beneath you;


No matter how you stamp your foot demanding all this movement,

Friend, you’re just a ball of atoms floating too on an infinite shore.


The robustness of your case to send back queue jumpers to sea

To keep your Straya drunk with fighting whites that’s right for you

Will be vilified, exemplar of the Racist Uptight Knights

and reminds me of a 3 year old I nannied- oh, wait, he was two.


You’re systematic in attacking what you fear will threaten your skin

Oblivious it cheapens all infinity to nought.

If aliens come to harvest some poor human for their sin

You’ll be the first to go my friend, and you can take your Thoughts.




and solidarity




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Rewriting h̶i̶s̶t̶o̶r̶y̶ her-story

living, rhymes and rhythm

My happiness was bubbling, I was on my bike again

No longer did I worry that my knee would snap and bend

I’d cycled several metres when I hit some broken glass –

Foreshadowing the people that I couldn’t cycle past.

I heard him first from faraway. It’s hard to miss that tone

The one that breaks into the night and makes you wish for home

I saw her then across the street. His gesture was a fist

A surge of panic rose within, this man was surely pissed

I watched in shock as 3 friends stood aside and down the road

As if this was just ‘another tiff’, and it wasn’t their Place to Impose


So I watched as the girl stood in silence, alone

As her boyfriend screamed into her face

And he told her to “shut the fuck up bitch I told you”, or he’d put her back into her place.

Little green man was lit, I was riding across, there I knew what my action would be

And I pulled up aside in my red floral dress… and where there was two, now was three.

But for just a quick moment I hated myself for engaging in what was not mine –

Then my courage returned like a jury spurred on by the potent injustice of crime

And I drew on the women in my life who’ve taken abuse at the hand of a man

“Are you OK?” I said to his back while his girlfriend cried into her hand.


Despite all the practice of centering self all my hackles were raised as he turned

to spit in my face “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!”

I stood bluffing, to seem unperturbed.

It was interesting. Holding his gaze was to call upon every. calm. cell. in my being.

But in those short few seconds I saw fire dampened by someone just sitting there, seeing.

He repeated his question, with less force but still force enough to dictate I’d be going

So I also repeated my question, imbuing my words with compassion and knowing.

And I saw this distraction from anger in action did soften his furious features

It’s so funny. Interactions with people on streets sometimes turn out to be the best teachers


Then I looked at the girl and saw shame in her tears and a sadness that this was a norm

And I cursed at the world that I had to encounter this violence in such common form

I felt 15 seconds was longer than weeks and I sensed my own tether was tight

By this time, 3 drunk men had caught up, deciding to yell and run after my bike

Instead of addressing depressing domestics in streets they put salt in the wound

And I spat on the ground and felt utterly shit that my courage imploded too soon

That this man in my face was abrasive enough to elicit a shuddering fear

Made me question how flimsy my stopping had been – sweet self deprecation had reared


Then I got home and chucked off my bag on the table and felt my whole thought process shift

Here I am feeling shit about stopping and caring and trying to settle that rift

Ain’t no man in a street will defeat my achievements of trying to live here and now

Holy shit look at what I can do with my body, I hula hoop with a big crowd

And I write when I can and I laugh more than most and I try to be good to the Earth

And I’m grateful for love and I’m happy to breathe and I’m thankful for my fleshy birth

There I realised that even though voices are loud one can win with a silence in sound

For the conquered are noisy and the angry lack vim, but the happy can never be bound.













Here Flying

living, loving, noteworthy, photography, rhymes and rhythm, travel



Tis a photo of joy that reminds one to see

Past the murmurs to nudge toward something alive

Being that which connects and collides in a frame

Saturating a feeling of brightness inside

There atoning in wonder; illusioning fear

But you prospect for metals that steel your third eye

Fall upon this small magnet, deem one to be three

For the fourth is enforcing the fort caught engrossed

In my moment of sharing a careful word worn

Wearing waste jarring charred tarry stars from their place

Is a wayside where whey splits from curd and the corn

Found its oily way into good cooking and space

Here you wonder aloud where the crack has been formed

One can plunder light, draining some quiet repose

Lying low, waiting words sweeten rupturing line

To demand mindless maker defeat its caked praise

Ode defining the miners who seek what they find

Bolsters boyishness dearly adhering to rows

Taking weather near hither or thither to be

Coming back to the colour that brightened your sighs

In a thronging sensation; a resounding vibration

Persisting through filters that aid percolation

And a clear conversation, intent on elation

Bringing lingering things to the boiling point nation

Rolling out of the grey where you stay in all day

Reeling back from the black that attacked your old fray

Polling hacks that enraptured the brackish to clay

One can see now how clouds can delight in array



And like a bird, held mighty word

And like a bird, held mighty word



peace xxx






Catching a Sydney Ferry Sunset

living, loving, photography, rhymes and rhythm


Not long ago I caught one of Sydney’s iconic ferries to Manly Beach.

The journey there was beautiful; blue skies and sun warmed wooden benches on boat’s bow.

An afternoon passed on the beach, lying still, watching all.

Here the clouds inched over, high above in a non-threatening gesture that spelled to beach-goers “we’re here to delight, not rain on your charade.”

This movement overhead geared towards something brilliant; as temperature was cooling, the sky was only warming up.

Swooping birds bore down on a boardwalk stretch beyond a gargling bay, as I boarded one last ferry, green and yellow floating in wait.

If a silence is golden then the girl standing one deck above me was glowing in rays. Though temptation of ten thousand cameras around us preserved through the pixels and lens, her and I were were the contrast that both used our eyes instead to remember the scene.

With a static air that charged the very nature of my being, and a place to stand on benches looking out across the bay, waning sun was melting down toward the landscape of the city, and it felt to me as though the time stood still in a timeless way.

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Ok, I swear, I’m Doing It

photography, rhymes and rhythm


In the last 12 hours


Cooked up oats,

Googled boats

Wrote a blog,

Dropped a bog

Surfed the web,

(brainwave ebb)

Shaved my legs,

Cooked some eggs

Counted cash,

Toilet dash

Carved in board,

(word is sword)

Messaged friend,

Awake no end

Here I sit,

Losing it


What a state

Essay? No,

I’m no Poe

Fear of time,

Need to rhyme


Voice is shrill

End of post,

I want toast

Coffee caper;

After that, the paper.




loopy peace from too-much-awake Helen








The Pause

living, loving, photography, rhymes and rhythm


Among the cars, the light to see

The folded root in pavement

Beneath a trunk where grow did she;

Pedestrian amazement


In flight the answer clear enough

On peppered figs like cotton

Upon the saddle, over rough

For ridges grow forgotten


But time on lime of grass sublime

Arrived the simplest answer

To what once more befell on rhyme

Remembrance of the dancer


There cloth had worked as sail to wind

Here clothing serves as master

As flailing flag in wind is thinned

A breeze blows ever faster


But, still in movement stopped the call

To go with haste, directed

Gradated green away from wall;

Away from screens erected


Now fathom this – your time in flow

Trick kisses from created

Cremate to ash the past, let go

To find a mind elated