Crazy dream

This is a crazy, crazy, CRAZY dream I had last night… I was locked up in a place called Bedford, a gaol housing all sorts of inmates, including Keanu Reeves. My crime? Being a non-conformist at work and speaking my mind, particularly around communication. I tried to give an example to my superiors about how…

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Mani-pedi

This is an excerpt from a reflective piece I wrote on Saturday afternoon. She gifted me a mani-pedi as practice for her nail technician’s course. I told her this is the reason we have children. It was relaxing and quite a role reversal. The child providing care and comfort to the mother, that sort of…

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Frost

I wrote this piece around 15 years ago, as a writers’ group homework exercise.​ ​I was standing alone at the bar when he approached me. He extended his hand. ​“Frost by name, frost by nature,” he said, half-smiling. ​Taking his icy hand, his long fingers wrapping themselves around mine, I was forced to agree. ​He…

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Summer Eve

Another homework piece, written after a warm, early-summer evening in Adelaide. From memory, this verbal photograph was taken at Grange in the early 2000s. The evening is calm, still, ethereal. People, relishing the first hint of summer, crowd their cars into the carpark, fighting for the best parks, desperate to unload and unwind. We patiently…

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Meant To Be

I wrote this story as a writers’ group homework piece when I was 33 or 34. The original title was Meeting, which was the homework topic. It is a truism that you write what you know, but in retrospect, I didn’t know a thing about heartbreak. The Italian made sure of that. When I tell…

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Freeze Frame

I wrote this poem at around 4.43 this morning when I couldn’t sleep. Here’s the context. Freeze frame. It was there. There. Right then. Then. That second exactly. That’s when I lost you. You switched yourself off. I can pin point it. My words. Our touch. Your look. Shut down. Pull back. Close off. It…

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To a Former Love: Some Questions

I wrote this poem around 15 years ago, when I lost a love. I was 34. This poem is a hopeful plea not to be forgotten. In all likelihood, though, I have been.  Do you ever think of me In the stillness of the night? Is the place I could have lain lonely, cold and…

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