Poetry

Over the years (since 1992 at least) I have written poetry. The poetry has been my brain's way of attempting to make some sense of a pretty challenging world to me. I have also written or contributed to a few natural history books over the same period of time. The latter I find relatively easy; research, decipher and consolidate a heap of scientific mumbo jumbo written by people who like to write to impress other scientific people, and rewrite it in a form digestible to the people that matter. For me it is like putting subtitles on a studio Ghibli movie. We all love the graphics, but most of us struggle to understand the language.

That has been my life in a nutshell: a world of beauty and colour, but very little makes sense. This is why I write poetry. Not for the enjoyment of others, but to try and make sense of the world I live in.

Tonight, a friend sent me a picture of this paper kimono that she saw today in Melbourne. I mean WTF. It was so beautiful, yet so impractical. But that is just the point really, isn't it? That is why I have written poetry since 1992...

Summer breeze,
green trees.
It's a beautiful day; the sun is out, the birds begin their song.
Go out and find some fun. The beach, the bush—the world is yours.
Or get in the car and drive until the city’s finally gone.
"I'll stay and build that bookshelf. What colour should I paint the wood?"

—from ‘Concrete Lumps & Green Trees’