Rope Walker

Cliffs, Byron Bay – June Perkins

Valley of rocks
reveal a playground
for the wedge-tailed  pretender.

Legend tempts her
to find the air
with fruit bat wings.

Her mercurial feet
gain courageous

She mocks the air
brushes the rope
now super grips it.

Soft touch again

She dances
a tribute to the cherubs
throws away her training net
glides to the other side

to leave those chariots chanting
we’ll carry you home another day.

(c) June Perkins

Found some old poetry chap books I made for friends when I was in my twenties and thirties, so will be sharing some of the work from them but updating it just a little if necessary.  This piece is an extract from Shadow Puppets p.1


Fragments of Broken Hearts

Gumbootspearlz Photography

JunePerkins_Cardwell_Will_BE172 (c) June Perkins

“The companions of all who adore Thee are the tears they shed, and the comforters of such as seek Thee are the groans they utter, and the food of them who haste to meet Thee is the fragments of their broken hearts.”
-Baha’u’llah, Epistle to the Son of the Wolf

This is my contribution to Nineteen Months.

Some very moving images and quotations are featured this month.  Always love featuring on this blog.

Currently I’m working hard on some submissions for Vahid.

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Videos Almost Done

So this is what I have been up to.

Magic Fish Dreaming

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I’ve been hard at work on the videos for during the kickstarter.

I decided to make a few short videos, and one that’s around 3 minutes.

This is partly due to people scanning through things so quickly on the internet you just need to make sure you have something that can say things in a catchy and short way.

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It was interesting deciding the best way to show the images on film, and Helene sent me some videos of illustrator’s that she liked so I could study the editing style.

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This was extremely helpful and gave me lots of inspiration to how to film her illustrations. So thanks so much for that Helene.  One of the things I loved  about the examples she sent me was how the camera pans and zooms could highlight the details within the picture and give the viewer an appreciation for the details in the…

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It goes with the territory

It’s very moving visiting John Etheridge’s poetry. And he’s a wonderful photographer as well.

the Book of Pain


I heard she made her kids promise to cremate her—
anything but anything not to go into that cold ground alone.
I remember…I was young, but old enough (and am now old,
but young enough) to know  how transitory it all was, even then:
how hot it was and she in just her bra, her kids looking scared
(something I was not used to and still wonder about)
while she smoked her long thin menthols and asked me
for a glass of ice water.

I wouldn’t, today, know one of my cousins (twice removed)
if I met one, nor have a clue, life being what it is, as to
their scatterings and shatterings, or what they embrace
and what they cannot. But I recall how slippery that glass was
with the condensation running down my back
and how the ice didn’t rattle as I handed it to her,
although it was a near thing. Now I rather think it might,
not that I care where they bury me.


The photograph was taken at Benjamin Franklin’s grave in Philadelphia, PA. To see…

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On the Ocean Shores

19409675559_dfb55a242d_o (2)
(c) June Perkins

Child on
The ocean shore
Lost to his father
Gone from a future life.

Father at
The funeral march
Wrapped in his grief
Unable to say, ‘Please Don’t

The photograph
Of my son
Who I tried to
Save from war and ocean.’

World that
Circulated the image
Again and again when
They wanted to say ‘stop.’

The image
Doing endless rounds
Did it help them?
Did it bring him back?

Journey to Boonah – (c) June Perkins

Lost one
Winging his way
Away from the war
To the sky of dreams.

Are no
Words that will
Bring him home again
He’s left wars far behind.

The clicks
One by one
Today no time for
Poetry that turns people inwards.

The wings
In the skylights
Above this day turning
Poetry ever outwards to peace.

are no
Words that will
Say everything you need
Only small attempts at flight.


Beauty and
Politics walk hand
In hand like friends
To coax the audience to wake?

Politics and
Beauty wash away
layers of makeup logic
That defy time and truth?

My eyes
Climb walls to
Fly with the ibis
In the urban skyline?

The skyline
Beckon me to
Climb in to poems
Seeing, dreaming, waking, crying, activating?

My poetry
To tear down
Walls by mapped lines
Activating, crying, waking, dreaming, seeing.

(c) June Perkins


Love poems about Crows.

Melissa Shaw-Smith

By Nyssa Shaw-Smith Gendelman By Nyssa Shaw-Smith Gendelman

I love it when the crows talk to me:

They know the comings and goings along the road,
why the blue jays are shrieking
and the sparrows have grown quiet in the bush.

Crows tell of the hawk’s shadow skimming the treetops
the silent owl on the hunt,
the bat looping the lawn.

They know the house wren’s hysterics
mean the house cat is slinking
through the grass, they know

there’s a bear feasting in the black cherry,
a dead snake on the road
and the turkey vultures are circling.

Crows—all eyes and ears and voice,
And they know that I am good
for old crusts of bread and gossip.

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Treasured Imperfections

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Brendan Bonsack is a songwriter and poet from Melbourne. He performs regularly, both solo and in the folk trio, Accidental Bedfellows.

His work has been recognised with a number of awards and has been translated into Polish and Russian. Brendan’s books and albums are available online via

Thanks for permission to share this work Brendan.