Thursday, July 18, 2013

To the Flight Attendant on QF11 to LA

James, it might be the red wine you poured so
conscientiously, casually splashing two drops so you could
confide how the turbulent tremors appear at always the
wrong time, causing us to spill when we mean to
contain, but the fourteen hours I spent with your eyes have
changed me. James,

your eyes blue like Lake Louise,
condemned to ever imitate the pristine Rocky Mountain
peaks but never free enough to
disturb them, those tall sharp points
dangerously tempting, right there,
out of reach. James,

your eyes blue like glacier cracks,
opening like wardrobe doors to
timeless tundras of beauty and numbing
amnesia, pitching forgotten wars of
lions and timid boys. James,

your eyes blue, wide and
contradictory like autumn skies, a weak
apology or a vow to return with
heat, posing the question that stands
pigeon-toed between innocence and deceit.

And I should know. I too have
blue eyes that sometimes knock on
unlocked doors, offer answers that sound like
requests, know far more than they
share with me. James,

it might be the red wine, but
fuck it, it’s not the red wine,
it is the fourteen hours I spent with your
eyes that woke an idle part of me.

Since the moment I arrived in this world,
cold, I have been handed
bricks. I have placed them
conscientiously, building walls around my yard, glorious
hygienic mountain towers of safety and
distraction. But you reminded me of the
turbulent tremors that appear at always the
right time, that one brick left crooked and a

A crack that, if I lean forward and
peer, allows me to see into other meadows between
rocky facades, marvel at the reflection of my face in
someone else’s lake. James,

your eyes reminded me we are born human first,
naked over open fields, but
we are taught to lay tectonic
shields. James,

your eyes reminded me we arrive with
wide, open sight, but we
fall closed between walls, we
labour to construct our Shangri La.


Thank you for reminding me that if we
crack open that little gap, we can
see very, very far.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Brisbane Roar Poets Tour 12 July

Last Friday night, I was honoured to perform in Canberra with three fantastic poets from Brisbane. Darkwing Dubs, Angela Willock and Martin Ingle ended their Roar Poets tour performing to a full house at Smith's Alternative.

It was heart-warming to see so many Canberrans come out to support spoken word. The audience was receptive, engaged and interactive - very satisfying for a performer. It made me proud to be from Canberra.

Amelia Filmer-Sankey, Zoe Erskine and Ellie Malbon provided local support, working as MCs and offering small gifts of poetry between sets.

Here are the poems I performed, with links to where you might be able to find video, audio or words:

To the Flight Attendant on QF11 to LA

I will post the words to the flight attendant poem up here soon.

Darkwing Dubs' ramblings and links to videos, etc can be found here. Here is one of his videos - Secrets.

Angela Willock does not have a home on the internet yet, but here is a video of her performing Bus Stop, which she opened her set with on Friday night.

Martin Ingle is a film maker and poet. He has a bunch of stuff on his YouTube channel, BreadAndBullfights. Here is Martin performing My Generation, one of the poems he gave us at Smith's.