Category Archives: Poetry

ebook promotion

As part of the 2017 Smashwords ‘Read an Ebook Week’ promotion (5-11 March) you can get my book, Nothing From Something, for 75% off. That brings it down to a a lousy buck, people. One week only. Git on it and check out some of the other participants while you’re there.



Nathan Prior

It’s taken 20 slow years but I’ve finally finished putting together a collection of Nathan’s songs. I’ve called it “I’m Not the Thief of Your Heart” after one of his unfinished songs. Nathan was a good bloke; funny and talented, but also troubled (something I didn’t find out until it was too late). I still miss him and playing in his band.

The book will probably be only of interest to anyone who knew him or his band, Billys Kingdom, but it’s available for all to see and download free of charge here (Google Drive folder). If you have any problems with the link, let me know.

The book is available in PDF, epub and mobi (Kindle) formats. Since the PDF conversion didn’t include the cover, I’ve added the cover file to the folder.


A stupid poem for a stupid dream

It started with a room.
A school gym, perhaps,
with something like a thick rug
on one wall, the fibres protruding
a few centimetres, stiff and
perpendicular to the ground.

There had been women in the room,
but they disappeared
behind doors in the wall.
I think they were acrobats,
maybe assassins, but
it’s somewhat unclear.

I climbed the wall as if I was
walking up a narrow, rocky track
until I neared the roof.
I hung by my fingers
until my grip weakened
and I dropped to the ground…

And found myself on a hill,
nothing but dirt and dry grass
and trees dead from drought
or bushfire. You were lying
by a cold fire, wrapped
in a blanket or a sack.

You looked up and said,
“You’ve come back.”
You hair had grown and
your skin was dusty and
I said you smelled like you
hadn’t washed your arse for a week.


We stepped where everything
was illusion, and memories
precious and strange
spike like pebbles
under naked feet in the dark.

Sul ponticello

In the mist I stand,
jacket wrapped tightly.
I hear shoes.
Not yours; another’s.
A staccato beat,
notes deadened
in the thick air.
She passes
and I watch.
My breath follows her,
drawing me as if
by a leash.
The river is cold,
black and quick below.


Though I have begun
to forget you, some nights
I feel your breath
on my neck and the
ghost of your scent arises
with the occasional
disturbance of the air.
I remember the first time
I bisected the apex
of your thighs with my
tongue and released
the sweetness within,
and I knew then
it wouldn’t last.
I remained awake all night
watching you sleep
beside me,
to make sure
I was not dreaming.


A moment of pause
in which I fail
once again
to leap.

And the last thing
I said I wanted
turned out not to be
the last thing at all.

A piece for mourning

When I awake it’s
your stray hairs
and the cum stains
on the sheets
that prove I wasn’t
simply dreaming.

Afternoon evocation

Smoky, golden sunlight
seeps through the window
and with its final
strokes for the day,
paints your breasts
with a dusty rainbow.
I reach out to trace
the rising shadow
on your back, but
you are not there.


Sit beside me, honey,
and let down you hair.
I have a bag full of cash
and a case of wine
in the back so grab a bottle
cos we have seven hard hours to go.
And did you remember
the matches like I asked?

We’ll head north and then west
and we won’t need a map
cos I know the roads
like my lips know your skin.
So baby, wind down
your window and sing
to the fucking stars
cos we ain’t ever coming back.

But first, keep the motor running.
Tonight we leave nothing behind.