Monday, 28 March 2011


The Hawkesbury Hills are mysterious
as reflections on this terminating year.
Mists freed from the clutch of belong
eddy and tease
blur edges of truth.

The dreariness
where sex between consenting adults
is front page news.
There's nothing to soothe the soul of discontent,
the burgeoning belief that nothing
ever will get better
as resources drain to puddles
with ever increasing need.

Space dwindles,
contracting to make more room fit in it.
There's little left for creatures
condensed to extinction, the weather
is full force extreme leaving destruction.

Religion and sport our primary halos
make us believe there is worth in their worship
they're icons that keep nations focused
and both should be sainted as
beacons of reason for why we are here.

With television as mentor
we learn what to eat, how to appear,
to wear pretence as a veil
of itself and believe it is real.

and now we cannot touch children
must warn them always to be afraid,
to play outside has dire warnings
enclosed they socialise on their computer.

If as is said, witchery survives, cover your hair
red heads will again become victims of fire
from lack of comprehension.

© Susan Adams

We had sex on Premier's desk: waitress
Susan Adams is an Australian poet who has been published in anthologies, online and print literary journals both in Australia and internationally. She has been read on ABC Radio National 'Poetica', All in The Mind' and '360'. Recent publications have included Eureka Street, Nth Position (UK), Great Works (UK), Eclecticism, Sugarmule (USA), Bacopa (USA), Hecate, Social Alternatives.