RSS Feed

Category Archives: Rose’s Poems!

When things get complicated….

There once was this woman called Jane

Had her eye on a hippy – called Shane.

They made out, like, twice,

And it was so nice,

She wanted to do it again.

Only thing was, she liked him so much,

It was doing weird things to her brain.

Yeah right, said the voice in her head – you dumb punk,

What the hell makes you think you can pull such a spunk?

When you are some plain looking weird writer chick

And hippie boy’s got such a magnificent, I mean his personality is so fully sick!

Maybe it’s just cause you’re a half decent fuck….

And THEN he invites her to his house – what luck!

But hang on – says brain – does he REALLY want her to come?

Nah probably not, says the brain – which was dumb.

But in its defence, she didn’t have his address,

So she couldn’t have visited Shane – least, unless

He told her.  But he didn’t, which just goes to show

Says her brain – he didn’t really want her to go.

So she stayed home – but then, as the voices died down,

Jane thought, you have stepped in the shit now, you clown.

If you try to explain, you’ll sound like a kook,

There’s nothing you can say to get off this hook!

Your mum always said it was wrong to be rude,

And now you’ve been horribly rude to the dude,

And for what?  Cause you got in a stupid old mood!

Cause he didn’t say ditto when you said he’s sweet,

And he thinks that you’re falling in head over feet,

And you aren’t!  That takes time, but in the meanwhile

You’re a little bit crazy for this guy and his style.

Yeah but hey – this is only some shit in a text!

Sure but Jane is a writer -so she’s easily vexed,

She can sit on a pile of words till she’s hexed!

Anyways, the thing is, what it matters to say,

Is that Jane likes HB and wants him to stay

Around long enough so she knows who he is,

And she doesn’t get into this sort of a tizz,

Which is caused – to be clear – cause she thinks way too much,

And she’s scared, and embarrassed, and lustful, and such

And they all mix around in a horrible stew!

But hey hazel-eyed hippie, I do really dig you!

Author’s note: but not scarily dig. Just like, dig.



You may be right.

I am NOT reasonable.

You stayed out till ten.

I was bored.

You lay on your back.

I was wild for a fuck.

I said you were like a brother, somehow.

You said you forgot that I wasn’t your sister, at work.

Last night I ignored your advances.

This morning I apologised.

You said I hadn’t bought any food for weeks.

I gave your side of the mattress a good kick

When you were gone.

You deserved it.

So that’s it, then.

All grown up, nineteen.
Vocabulary, obscene.
Beer in bar, bum on bike
Adult now, do what I like!
Smoke cigarettes,
Stay up till four
And sometimes don’t come home at all.

So that’s it then!

White dress, big day,
All those words that people say,
Back turned, in the night,
Smothered yawns, no one’s right.
Take my things, you take yours,
Sign the forms, shut the doors.

So that’s it then?

Hard work, long planned rest.
Move somewhere warm, north is best.
Creaky knees, thyroid glands
Wattled neck, veined hands,
Clotted cream, in your thigh,
And then one sunny day, you die.

So that’s it, then.

Honesty: A Poem

I always hated honesty.

Like poison.

Avoided it.

To tell the truth’s unwise without good reason.

But now I vomit truth.

I’m casting out the vile in me,

I lose, and you lose.

I always hated honesty.

Missing, presumed dead

Something is wrong

With him and me.

Back aches, work

Whines for my attention.

Wet wood won’t fire.

Over the dinner table,

Dull talk. Tired embraces.

Where is the lust?

The wires don’t conduct

Today, between us.

Shifting portrait

To him, with indifference

I gave freedom.

He had it already.


He played the tunes we’d listened to in bed.  There was

Comfort against many strangers.

The old intimacy, but not quite.

Fascination, for the shifting portrait I drew.

An unfinished episode.



But not dependence.

Forgetting isn’t easy, even now with you.

He was a game I couldn’t win.

If I’d had him and you in either palm,

I wouldn’t even keep a silence once a year,

I wouldn’t ever yearn,

For him.

This was a poem I wrote a very long time ago. I was thinking, how little things have changed.  It could have been about so many relationships I’ve had since.  Playing games I couldn’t win.  I have to break the mould!!

Nature is fucking with me!

Uriarra Crossing – favourite local swimming spot!

Nature is fucking with me.

Swimming, cold-as-grit water gets up my nose.

She says, anything gonna bite us in here?

I say, no, not in a river

The water’s too clear.

Then a big fly comes bomber-like and sinks

Sixteen inch stilettos in my thigh.

Still, I’m not gonna die.

Looking for gold

Knee deep in the stinging stream

A rock rolls on my foot.

I shout, shit!

She says what mum?

I say nothing much, wipe off the blood

Nature’s just scored another hit.

In memory of one white cockatoo


Of all the places you could be –

By the cold, stony river with its burnt-out banks,

Or a lonely hillside cursed by purple Paterson –

You’re here, on my verandah, alone.

Your hundred cousins chewing bark

Down by the dam.

It was just you and me. 

I thought you carried a red fruit

Till I saw it was your beak,

Half torn-off, your grey tongue hanging loose,

Your white chest feathers rusty with blood.

I gave you seed in a bowl,

You tried to scoop it sideways with your broken jaw,

Swallow it whole.

I watched you, watched over you, watched for you.

On the third day you weren’t there.

Down on the cool green grass of the golf course you sat, waiting for sunset,

Your hundred cousins already roosting

In the myrtle tree.

Mad Man, Singular

Your knock on the door made us nervous.

Your eager, too naked eyes held us frozen on the couch,

While you gulped your coffee, and explained

Your secret, convoluted universe,

Friends turned into enemies,

A listening post at every mailbox, the strange whisperings of trees.

We said to each other, poor boy,

We wondered, what will become of him?

But the wind dropped,

The stars found their old places, the topsy turvy seas of dopamine, serotonin

Settled back into their appointed channels, and you

Fetched up on the beach, battered, but sane.

Why is there a stranger in my house?

Have you taken your pill today?


Who will you be when I come home?

Will I know you?

Will you hurry about the house leaving a trail of words behind you like a snail on speed?

Will you spin in circles, from the dishwasher to the washing machine to the milk stain on the couch,

Program not responding.


Or will you say “I’m feeling a bit


And when I’m ready I’ll say,


And you’ll say “I don’t know”

And I’ll want to run but I won’t,

Because soon you’ll be weeping and I

Won’t know why,


I’m neither

Problem nor solution.