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Mozza’s
Love Poem
I
fell for Suze,
that’s
the missus –
not
that we’re married
but
she doesn’t like girlfriend
-
too temporary –
and
I won’t say partner
-
what a wank
we
were both in kinder.
When
she cried
I
gave her my best matchbox car.
Everyone
said we’d get married.
I
guess we will
if
I get another job.
The
first time we kissed
the
hair on the back of my neck
stood
straight up –
I
reckon we glowed like a 90 watt bulb
it
was that electric.
I
like winter best
we
warm each other up
snuggle
under the doona
like
we’re kids again
though
now our own kid
sneaks
in sometimes
right
in the middle, elbows me
out
of the way but she’s okay -
looks
just like her mum
eyes
as brown as chocolate drops
hair
that dirty blonde colour
and
long, lanky legs already.
She’s
a heart breaker
just
like Suze.
from
His Name in Fire
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Small
Town Living
Got no job and got no money
got an old car but can’t
buy petrol
got a girl
but nowhere to go
but up to old Jimson’s hill
to watch the sunset
the sun set on this small town
that big old sun going slowly down
sky blazing orange and then going
black
we’ve got no future but there’s
no turning back
Got no hope and got no beer
got a t.v. but it’s on the
blink
got a girl but nowhere to go
but up to old Jimson’s hill
to watch the lights
the lights go on in Safeway
headlights on the freeway
we spin us a dream of leaving,
packing up
we’ve got no future but there’s
no turning back
Saturday night with nothing to
do
got a few mates but no party
got a girl but nowhere to go
but up to old Jimson’s hill
to watch the stars.
the stars that fill this big old
sky
some call them souls that had to
die
I can’t stand tomorrow and
can’t love the past.
I’m not going anywhere but
getting there fast.
Can’t sleep, can’t
dream
and my bed’s too small
got a girl but nowhere to go
but on Jimson’s hill
to watch the sunrise
the sun rising again on our small
town
another day filled with nothing
to do
I hate today and can’t love
the past
Not going anywhere but I’m
getting there too fast.
by T. J. and the Blue Runners
from His Name in Fire
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What
Emma Sees
Tousled
hair, eyes with
twinkle
creases at the corner
from
never wearing sunglasses
shadows
underneath them –
staying
up too late watching t.v.
Broad
shouldered, tall -
everyone
says he’s a
Jackson
boy,
just
like his dad at his age but a smile
like
Lucy’s, gentle and goofy.
Big
hands like them both
musician’s
fingers, tender on the flute.
Mathew
Jackson makes me laugh
and
cry and angry and-
but
this is a secret, so shhh-
want to kiss his
goofy curly smile.
from
His Name in Fire
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![](A_Dangerous_Girl.jpg")
![](The_Year_It_All_Happened.jpg")
![](His_Name_In_Fire.jpg")