Hand Written

In the cold weather
the cold city the cold
heart of something as pitiless as apathy
to be a poet in Australia
is the ultimate commitment.

is to be remembering a sparrow
in Bird Life Park
a toad-fish
at Sea-World

I'm no poet,
But the leaves went all different colours—
Red, and yellow.
We waited until they had all fallen
Before we cut it down.

* * *

A Story About Eden
A chapbook-sized selection of my poetry.

Song for a City
An exploration of city in verse and prose.
* * *

Sites of poetic interest on the Internet.
* * *

(Obligatory baby photo)
A photograph of me.

(Aerial photograph of my street)
A photograph of where I live.

A photograph of some poetry.