Category Archives: prose

some thoughts on the utility of bunyips

I was reading Worms’s post about belief, “The answer is a question”. And I started writing a really long comment, and then thought it was a bit rude to take up so much space on her blog for my own musings. So I’m putting them here. Continue reading


Filed under musings, prose, rants

no loose ‘roos in here

This is for d’Verse’s Haibun Monday: The present moment. I got into the office, opened my email, my calendar, my magic pudding TO DO list, and then… though I knew I oughtn’t… checked the Monday dVerse prompt.


H_ opens the gate at the top of the driveway, swinging on it the last 45 degrees, though I always tell her not to. She gets back in and we barrel on down the hill. A flock of cockatoos, white against a blue sky, swoops across the road in front of me to land in a paddock among the ‘roos. “Got a ‘roo loose in the top paddock” I say, but H_ doesn’t get the joke, yet.
We lurch and bounce over potholes and gullies, until dirt gives way to gravel, gives way to bitumen and we admire the autumn colours as we trundle into the village – claret ash, golden ash, scarlet pin oak, Chinese pistachio and liquidambar… even the names speak of flames, of flaring vivid transience, of an excitability beyond tulips.
A quick hug, an “I love you, have a good day” and H_ is running for the school gate and I am heading for the highway, the parkway, past the airport where a jet roars overhead, white as a cockatoo in the sun, packed with pollies heading for Sydney. Traffic lights, merging lanes, security gate, carpark, swipe card entry so my presence is known, my whereabouts tracked. Down corridors where crimsons have been safely ritalined into placid rose, all verdant greens safely, sagely, Valium-dulled (although I think the ceiling is giving me separation anxiety).

Don’t swing on the gate,
it could come unhinged – we don’t
want ‘roos loose in here.


Filed under poem, prose

make $$$ while you sleep!

For the dVerse Monday prosery prompt “meet me where the sidewalk ends“, with the requirements: 144 words or fewer, NOT a poem, and using the line from Shel Silverstein “if you are a dreamer, come in” with any punctuation:


The kids were on the couch in front of the TV when I got home, as usual, each plugged into their phone – networking, gaming, blogging. But not picking up their dirty dishes or getting dinner ready, of course.
The little one in her thirties now, and the twins almost forty! Where did the time go…?
I used to think they’d finish school, then college, get jobs… but we’ve made ourselves redundant. There’s nothing a human can do that a machine can’t do better. Even designing new machines.
The blaring TV got even louder as it went to a commercial – a gold-toothed shouty-droid proclaiming “So if YOU are a dreamer, come in today! We pay top prices!” as dollar signs flashed in his eyes.
Well now, maybe there was still one thing machines couldn’t do.
“Alexa, call ‘Androids don’t dream of electric sheep’”.


Filed under prose