3 poems by Owen Bullock

Updated: Sep 3


urban haiku


supermarket

an old man quavers ‘La Vie en Rose’

on a violin


winter busstop

the schoolgirl bites her thumb

at a boy across the street


bus window

Il Pleut

by Apollinaire


the class without a sound . . .

footsteps echo

down the corridor


graffiti

on the jetty

SESH was here, obviously


day off

spider threads

through the courtyard


look at this

golden light and a man

plays golf


on the pavement

in bright blue chalk and a child’s hand

Merry Christmas everybody!



dressing


sick of your wardrobe

use the floordrobe


do you know how tricky it is to handle an M16 with fake fingernails?


at ice hockey you’re that far away from men hitting each other with sticks


we made paper darts of the church newsletter


I’m going to eat my bizarre vegan sandwich


sewing to death-metal


me mincers are packin’ up

[mince pies: eyes]


he unfollowed me


I don’t want to control alt delete today


dirt on the windows


light makes cobwebs filigree


I want my mama!


some of my best friends are words


the shallow basket brimming with vegetables


this room stinks bad of sandlealwood and mediocrity sailors


we never know when someone’s listening


my husband calls me mum


not special in a negative way


it’s never too late to get bendy


is that a bag?!


happy is buying


I’m going to die tonight, see


maybe after, I’ll be very employable




Camping in a new place


So this is Australia, live ghost of a map. Red dust, families of kangaroos, red parrots, green

parrots, kookaburras, eastern rosellas, common brown butterflies on the shoulders of Mt

Majura.


Tjanara’s welcome: everyone who comes here comes for a reason and we want to help them with their dream.


*


Cut back from trees (in the office). Brushing them with the wind, you merge. Humans,

grasses, moths. Buildings hollowed vessels. Walk to the lake, sit at lunch time on a fallen log under a stand of trees. Talking to you.


*


The campus an abstract to go in fear of.


we can have

fact and reason, she says

reaching for the tea


mark the tree

with our image?

no, a wallaby!


cup the severed land

six slots in the sculpture

to bracket the heart


cockatoo’s

crest feather

a perfect question


the eucalypt

grows around

its shield scar


Now you know it’s here, you can come back.


*


Paul greets us at the garden, its notes on uses, inherited knowledge. Sun slants, glowing. A

young garden, old. DNA, seed, idea. Peppery leaves can be eaten all year round. Indigo made into a paste to stun fish. You’re not the only one here.


____________


Owen Bullock has published three collections of poetry, five books of haiku and a novella,

the most recent being Summer Haiku (2019) and Work & Play (2017). He teaches Creative Writing at the University of Canberra, and has a website for his research into poetry and process, at https://poetry-in-process.com/