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Tag Archives: poetry
at the ballet.
sour faced cheque book convertible driving have you paid the cleaner? panty-hosed-golden-wristed dollar bill fisted sisters red nailed failures of beauty. -jw
ears: a quiet observer
I recently interviewed Australian painter/musician Daniel O’Toole aka Ears. It was my last article for T-SQUAT magazine and has been published in two parts. Part one outlines his development as an artist and the second explores the psychological and philosophical elements to … Continue reading
dichotomic.
sitting on the couch watching the aussie open on television tomas berdych is playing novak djokovic it’s quite a good game of tennis djokovic was on top then berdych made a spirited comeback in the second set before djokovic’s class … Continue reading
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Tagged blog, carrot sticks, derren brown, poem, poetry, sex, tennis, writing
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chaos breeds images.
I recently visited the ‘Francis Bacon – Five Decades’ show at the Art Gallery of NSW in Sydney. I took along a pad and a pen and jotted down some words as I made my way through this incredible exhibition … Continue reading
swings in the wind.
lying on your black yoga mat in the wind on a wealthy hill looking over sydney harbour. you said you used to ride your motorbike here when you were sad. eating vegan chocolate raspberry slice from your cafe an old … Continue reading
simple words for a complex thing.
rarely does the right leaf fall to the ground who lost the skies, from pure seeds pure trees grow tall and in confusion darkness lies. simple words for a complex thing all we’re given is all that we need, two … Continue reading
float fall bloom blot dance fuck taste learn.
(float) like dust off the moon’s silver shoes. (fall) like a white-hot meteor pummeling the earth trading mercy for pleasure. (bloom) every colour’s dream. (blot) the pad of a poet’s lost truth. (dance) with the devil’s fiancé. (fuck) a pregnant … Continue reading
drift weightless.
fall gently upon black lace moon’s thigh. drift weightless in transparent silver dresses together. float like fresh air mountain lion’s roar cracks. torn earth receives gravity’s fear today. light falls in the wind warm from the sun’s pulse. worn desert sands … Continue reading
love is now definable.
day-light-savings is fun because you get to time travel. welcome to the future, there’s a few things you should know. yellow is now called ‘realoper’. sugar is salt and everyone is asexual. the earth is flat again. they discovered the … Continue reading
hungover insights into the deep recesses of a shallow world.
strolling through st kilda east, a warm melbourne spring morning. a certain nostalgic, ambient romance gently permeates my human sensibilities. the smell of pink virginal blossom floats jovially – the city is stretching, rubbing its eyes and optimistically contemplating the … Continue reading
robin print dress.
old lady of chapel street wise eyes that have never lied (hiding) beneath the table place your head gently on my lap and remind me that I am alone. (thrown bones) soft lover, hater of nothing you are a teacher … Continue reading
give me one reason to stay here.
purple jacket of private school youth with golden badges and no hair product plays chess with his mum whilst eating a croissant and drinking a hot chocolate which he didn’t finish. my mum always refused my chess requests. eating a salmon bagel … Continue reading
vaginas are boring.
vaginas in the young night green-light-flesh-reflected i’m sure it’s firm and tender but it’s nothing i haven’t felt before. vaginas grouped together tight in lost evenings of youth expected dressed up and down for town nubile ass on display the … Continue reading
friday morning.
the rain falls reluctantly, as if the ground once broke its heart. voices fill the halls, lost voices that know no better. jazz makes its way, whatever way it wants. melbourne’s sky smiles grey, electric fires burn not too hot … Continue reading
collaboration.
Sitting around with the violently skilful Conrad Bizjak, whilst he improvised some drawings from my words and ideas i was making up as we went along. Super fun. Check out more of his work here: conradbizjak.org.
innocent when you dream.
tom waits is singing about new orleans on youtube. there is an obese black woman on the muted television wearing an azure moomoo. i cannot think of the word moomoo without thinking of the simpsons episode when homer gets really … Continue reading
invisible.
does nectar taste less sweet in a dream? a mirage is paradise if it makes you believe. answers don’t need questions to survive. i am invisible through ignorant eyes. -jw.
jack kerouac – lonesome traveller.
Excellent read. Wild loose erratic observant sensitive spontaneous poetic prose.
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Tagged american literature, beat, bookclub, jack kerouac, literature, lonesome traveller, poetry, prose, words, writers, writing
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nabar exist.
Waiting for the G train green line on the map from Queens to Brooklyn to get on the blue line A train to change onto the C at Utica Avenue en-route to the Air-Train at Howard Beach then to terminal … Continue reading
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Tagged art, new york, people, photography, photos, poetry, portraiture, prose, stream of conscious, subway, travel, words, writers, writing
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awake in the dark.
jetlag mixed with daylight savingstoo lazy to get uppissing in a bottle. -jw
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Tagged awake in the dark, day light savings, haiku, poem, poetry, words, writing
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cafe mornings.
“Something that my hypnotherapist said…” I want not for your world absurd, watches, cufflinks and leather. Keep your perfectly ironed starched striped shirts that don’t enjoy the weather. “I think arrogance is healthy…” High profile campaigns will always wane … Continue reading
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Tagged cafe culture, conversations, eves dropping, melbourne, people, poem, poetry, prahran, prose, st edmonds, words, writing
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kerouac – american haiku
in the morning frost the cats step slowly. beautiful young girls running up the library steps with shorts on.
book club: american literature.
I’m beginning to have difficulties recalling the books I’ve read over the last few years, so I’m compiling a list of texts I can remember reading and can recommend – for my own posterity if nothing else. I thought … Continue reading
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Tagged a farewell to arms, a separate reality, allen ginsberg, american lit, american literature, american psycho, art, beautiful losers, bob dylan chron, book covers, books, breakfast at tiffany's, bret easton ellis, cannery row, carlos castaneda, cat's cradle, catcher in the rye, classic, classics, cover, cover art, east of eden, ernest hemingway, famous, famous books, fear and loathing in las vegas, for whom the bell tolls, harper lee, hell's angels, hunter s. thompson, images of book covers, j d salinger, jack kerouac, jim morrison, john steinbeck, junkie, junky, just kids, kingdom of fear, kurt vonnegut, leonard cohen, light my fire, literature, lyrics, of mice and men, on the road the orin, patti smith, photos of book covers, picture, poetry, prose, ray manzarek, robert mapplethorpe, slaughter house five, the doors, the grapes of wrath, the old man and the sea, the pearl, the sun also rises, the teachings of don juan: a yaqui way of knowledge, the yage letters, to kill a mockingbird, tortilla flat, truman capote, william burroughs, william lee, words, writers, writing
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money, not jesus
following homeless man taking loose steps down footpath playing the blues on his harmonica.. he’s wearing a blue Ford jumper stops to survey the damage on a blue Ford. Keeps on with the blues stopping at every metallic pole … Continue reading
Posted in life
Tagged 3181, art, church, crucifiction, digital art, dollars, jesus, melbourne, money, park, poem, poetry, prahran, son of god, stonnington
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Rilke.
From ‘The Sonnets to Orpheus’ By Rainer Maria Rilke – translated by stephen mitchell. Look at the flowers, so faithful to what is earthly, to whom we lend fate from the very border of fate. And if they are sad … Continue reading
a dollar sixty.
knuckles down against the street praying for change to keep things the same whilst his friends watch on. he’s collecting coins for everyone. I ask him for a portrait, he throws up two peace signs. I wonder if he’s been … Continue reading
spanish mystery.
I don’t know you very well; in fact, I don’t really know you at all. These are not emotional thoughts. They are words of appreciation and celebration of a woman who has occupied an unusual area of my conscious for … Continue reading
1.10am
it’s getting late’ish for a work night it was very hot yesterday with electrical storms but cold’ish today and now warm tonight. Melbourne weather. The fan on my desk is blowing around the three tags that hang from the three … Continue reading
existential halloween.
drunk hellos fall on deaf ears full of noise what’s the point point? boom boom boom small talk is small haaa haaaa haaa you can’t see imperfections in the dark… -jw
indulgence.
moments of animalistic bliss where our bodies collide she was screaming things like FUCK, SHIT, JESUS & OH MY FUCKING GOD loud enough for people on the street to hear everything i thought they might call the cops found … Continue reading
Posted in life
Tagged chapel street, halloween, hungry jacks, poem, poetry, prahran, sex, subway, words, writing
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one of those things…
how can i how can i do it how can i see and absorb everything life has to offer how can i channel every beautiful thing every beautiful song, every book, poem, beautiful woman, beautiful painting beautiful photo, beautiful person, … Continue reading
lonely diamond.
You’re every part my poet princess and truly an artist with the most profound creative gifts of all: the ability to feel and the freedom to express yourself. trust in your instincts and visceral visions, channel them all into your … Continue reading
quick service, great chicken.
drunk cans on train and saw angels who see in sepia bikers with beards beers & flavoured cigarettes talked art with artists in alleyways of melbourne old office chair dope 1960′s holden wagon her art was on the walls … Continue reading
dear resident..
wolfmother is playing on the stereo something about another dimension i thought their music sounded a bit formulaic but conrad reckons their other albums are quite different. he’s oil painting a photo i took of him that night and saying … Continue reading
can’t stay
friends opened hot dog joint on greville street courtyard around smokey fire synthetic cannabis called “chronic” bathtub full of ice n beers usual shit was talked jem was on fine form as always military jacket government sponsored laughs were shared … Continue reading
notifications.
oh look a little red square with a small one inside it just appeared on my screen… how exciting!! i wonder what this means? oh…it’s just an event invite from a stranger to a shit party in another city… little … Continue reading
