holiday song

come on miss slowpoke pack your hairbrush and your comb don’t worry about make up there’ll be no-one to know hold the bag down I’ll zip around the side it’s almost overloaded and it’s surely too wide but I’ll drag and I’ll haul it manhandle and maul it to make that suitcase fit snug into …

Only Hands

they're only hands i suppose instruments of touch explorers of fine sensation and i am so taken by this journey into the softness of skin through fingertips the sensation of hands traveling cool across my face soft touches with a tremble i can feel they're only hands i suppose © Frank Prem, 2000

stolen moon

I stole the moon tonight it wasn’t doing any harm nor some special good but I saw a chance and took it grasped with both my hands then away under my jacket the sky still seems full of stars and I couldn’t even claim that it’s become more dark just not so light not the …

steps to a consecration

stand at the eastern corner beneath the open shedding feel the smoothness of the stones with which you paved look to the statement of the boundary line this is the Land ~ stand at the southern corner on the black richness of loam look to the slender alium the upright maize this is the Land …

Ich Liebe Dich

ich liebe dich my uncle stopped his lady in the middle of Melbourne turned her around till they were standing with their faces close and held her he just said it in a quiet voice and with a soft look so she knew he meant it and there was a smile creasing the corners of …

just not today

it’s like watching a skeleton bones dressed in skin that’s sunk to clutch like a one-piece body suit in and out of contour bones sockets and cavities she looks like death it is close but interspersed with shuddered inspirations gasped and grasped at intervals waiting for the one come on one more time again again …

not listening to a flood

I am not listening to the stories about floods they are an inundation on every tv channel I have seen waters overflowing tears being cried like rivers speechless people telling incoherent stories of how they have never seen the like before thought the first time three weeks ago was their disaster but here it is …

A Sentence?

Your stockings have a sheen, when clinging to the legs that grace high heeled pumps carrying you to places I cannot go in all the hours of following your adventures from a recess of my mind, so full of cluttered meanderings that take me, at odd moments, into novel ideas and hidden vaults of thought …

predator

  you’re a predator the tone was vehement voice trembling you prey on people like me single mothers vulnerable you think it's ok just seduce and then piss off at a hint of involvement a fucking predator he held her while she sobbed into his shoulder wondered: am I? is that what I do? thought …

Willow Nine Tails

for months the ornamental willow has been a lifeless mass of twisted branches today green protrusions transform dead sticks into hinted writhing energy a sinuous cat of nine tails to flay the back of winter © Frank Prem, 2001