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Chris Whitelaw

of

Perth, Western Australia, Australia

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Dream Rendezvous

by

Chris Whitelaw

through red wine dreams
i hear the feminine riddle
her soul incense smoulders
whispering smoke trails
endless as tantric lace
and giddy like tequila rapids
she wears gossamer stockings
fine as a spiderweb's shadow that
shimmer like jewels' crying dew
bruised eyeliner lustre
frames stained glass windows
her tie-dye bubble gum tongue
kisses with silken viciousness
smearing amphetamine lipstick
my succubus flees lights knife
as dawn cuts a bleeding skyline
i awake in howling ruin
the inevitable spare
caught in nostalgia's driftnet
but a jagged glacial lucidity
stirs a cowboy lawlessness
and like disco breaking free
with the rush of a war time infidelity
i close my eyes to see
she is always waiting
wearing a candy floss bikini top
and cream wafer panties
eyes riddled with promise and tease


Busselton jetty lessons

by

Chris Whitelaw

The lapping shoreline
is softly applauding, for
a cool night breeze helps
my beer bottle to sing.

Winking stars tickle
playful giggling ivories.
Their shining light,
a spritely melody.

Crowded mounds of weed
whisper amongst themselves.
Slowly I unwind and relax,
the way new friends gel.

The horizon quietlt crackled,
hissed and popped like vinyl.
The old jettry reached for it
without any fear of denial.

I put out my hand and imagine, it
slipped between that far line like a sheet.
It felt warm and Familiar Strange
like when two cool heads meet.

In time the moon will unmask,
this calming promise of more.
Tonight's glimpse tides me over,
hear the shoreline's deafening roar.

Metamor-prose

by

Chris Whitelaw

...silent sentiments skip
flinting glints across the ponds
Between us
ripples echo and lap
poetry is read
differently
to yourself
...and out loud
no punctuation
with less grammar
could snare a wink
Between a new crack in the windscreen
reading the cracks themselves
in a roasted turtle shell
dancing like a galah in a lift
Between floors
like gaps
Between comic strip panels
join the blanks
Between the lines
it's your long island iced tea
so lick your lips
like an extended ellipsis
suggests...
..
..
..and read like your
using a spork for the first time.

Red Doves

by

Chris Whitelaw

who u are..
where u been..
have u come far.
what u seen..
Drops of blood.
Rivers in flood.
Red drops of blood
on white flying doves.
when u stop..
why u goin..
where u drop..
how u growin..
Drops of blood.
Lakes of love.
Red stains of blod
on white drowning doves.
who u burnt..
what u deserve..
have u learnt..
how's yr nerve..
Drops of blood,
beaks pecked rough.
Red drops from high above
on olive branch bearing doves.