The ocean rises.

Fossil bone, a maiden’s cliffthrowing ghosts in the stalactitesthere, my ocean is there, and I will die with the thorn in my side;abyssal shadows are empty, sandstone splits at my cheek,look at the full-bodied ocean, their fish bones belowthe memorial, from so close, I can stand upon the ocean’s bosom,her white waves upon my fingersO’ [...]


Me reading "Metaphysical" 10.22.2020. Metaphysical places; mirrored minds; mooring across the broken bird, maybe the Madarasz’s tiger in its mournful lone,keep the arbored madnessin her untethered womb—swaddle the nest of the tree with aneurysmed red bodies of the moon salved with fingernail lines on the egg, her baby. The agitation of her veinsmakes me ask [...]


the corvid rises from the yellow moon,wept to a body of death, dismissal of its heartbeat to the atramental starsof unbidden dance; I know how this goes,I’ve been here before,slipping out of one’s own skin; it was memoirs hung by wings,by the man’s madness; dither nowor die in memory. The moon shall forever watchas reprieved [...]

la mausoleum

Perfume loring, turning and hedged to the skulled moon. It was a death-sentence oneiric to the autumn. It was symbolic as the little boy put his dirty shoes on my guitar case (and I said nothing), I felt atrophy of either the red koi flowers or the moon and I drowned to the moon herselflike [...]

Dead in a Minute: COVID-19 MasterClass (Review).

Dead in a 1:00 is an emerging show hosted on Instagram that features horror shorts. These horror shorts revolve around the final few moments, or quite literally, the last minute of someone’s life. Don’t let this make you think that it is pure horror—you would be quite mistaken. Trigger warning: This episode contains dark humor [...]

“Potpourri” by Ivor Steven.

I have a visiting bluebirdStanding in my potpourri bowlBathing in aromatic leavesSinging a reverieAbout her dying treeAnd I join in, with her plea“Trees are the air we breathFeeding us food and seedNourishing land and seaPlease let us grow and breed.” In the morning mistBeside the potpourri dishThere, the bluebird is lyingI see her sad eyes [...]

dream (returning hand in hand).

Black feathers as I dreamed,do not look at me; ebony moonthe lust of the body of the shore,as nightmares, in what I’ve neverknown at all, reflect the Artemis moon;the fat, yellow moon; it’s a blood-huntto the red-hills,and a sea,cocktails of sweatdeath at the ground. There is beauty in the death of thingsin imminent dreaming,for it’s [...]

“Inspire me Coffee, Please?” by Don Matthews.

I’m sitting in my cafeWanting some inspireStaring at me coffeeWaiting brain to fire Hello? I feel ignition?Neurons taking offTelling me to write aboutMy cappuccino froth What a load of twaddle… Sorry readers… I am an Australian writer. In 'Flippant, Comic, and Serious', I focus on humour, offbeat poetry, and exploring things different.

our ghosts.

our ghosts accompany loneliness... mirrors of distant memory      find to the dusk like at sea      a memento in a dream      that eludes me and floats...      Orange blossoms into Ophelia’s violets and the granitic rocks      rush to the red dust for how quietly time has passed  through the statuary of rock [...]


paraphernaliaflowers; the frozen nailsof Mars, lest I leavein lunula wombsto no death of our wormsand our licking wings;I’ve dreamt no morethan the coquette black rose,and her absinthe skin,wormwood, dead at our feet,to the insomniacocktails of phantasm,setting down the metaphysical poetrythrough my blood-flow, and the paraphernaliaof rocks, incubated with the skull-shapedhills; is it thenso ancient?the last [...]

Planetary motion.

Wept in the death of Gods, darker still in the gathering ocean, with only tears that fall to them, in the red hyssop of the frost inclined to the penetralium of desire, as the ocean slips no fate by its sea song to kill empty, the abscission of leaf falls like glass we could not [...]

mad to the moon.

Frost labors my neck, the snake of womb in there Eastern Europe then the admonitory shores to the oneiric seize of our fruits dismembered with white at the tentacles of spring Gimcrack, exiled in arabian perfumes; shun me, music, like a stranger in the romance pollinating in sedated blood of the Sahara, in which the [...]

“Sex, Alcohol and Sugar” by Don Matthews.

I seem to spend my lifeIn giving up on thingsThings I like, look forward toRing-a-ding-a-ding I'm told such things are bad for meThat I should wave goodbyeTo smoking, sugar, alcoholGive up, lie back, and sigh Funny? But there's just one thingI don't give up (one thing)That's sex, it just gives up on meRing-a-ding-a-ding Visit 'Flippant, [...]

I leave in a deeper silence.

Death among a void,             existence into the throatof the flowers; but what is it aboutthe death of verse and proseinto the saurian rocks             and night of memorynot myself? Quiet as baby’s breath.             The fall of manis a rarity from fear and falsity             but as poetically a delusionto capture in the snow like a child;I reach to open my eyes             to [...]