US Success

The screenshot below shows my second novel The Ozone Cafe slated for publication this year, October 2021!

Screenshot_OctoberPublication

A Prose Poem published in the Adelaide Literary Award Anthology, 2019.

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Breakfast

A square table of a period, French provincial and a joyful array of the region with croissants and slender butter and placed with a little difference is a small white bull. Not a real bull. It shows perhaps a borrowing. Spanish, but not, certainly not, as it holds milk for the tea. The tea is weak but nevertheless the decoration is blue, a kind colour around the room in a choice of chairs, not too small for the back and the leaning yesterday and it is likely that today is a holiday with eggs and coffee. Delicious eating without explaining an accent as food is a language, yes, and no need to explain a carafe of juice with an arrangement of seasonal fruit and a side serving of baker’s crusty snaps. Waiting is lengthening for the bacon and mushrooms if that order is really necessary but if in the eating there is a needed respite, a platter of cheese is there for the tasting, and a declared respect for the cook when the door swings open and a tray of pumpkin soup is strong and mushy with early morning warmth which is a kind of astonishment for tears and fullness and a certain bursting when there is further talk of salmon with a dash of pepper, kind cuts of ham, sausages thick and thin, a breakfast different and pleasanter and certainly there is no surprise waving the chicken away.

Novel_Calendar

My Debut novel The Last Asbestos Town released on 1st May 2020. I’m planning on having a book launch in Fremantle when copies of the book reach our WA shores subject to end of Covid-19. Stay tuned!

THE LAST ASBESTOS TOWN

ISAAC – Chapter 6 (Part)
On the way to the river, he noticed the empty fuel mark. She’d drained the petrol again with all her running around with clothes and packages. He certainly needed a smoke after his woeful day, and now there was something else to worry about. May seemed to hold a peculiar satisfaction about keeping him in suspense.
He headed to the grassy side of the river near the picnic grounds. The afternoon breeze stirred in the undergrowth as he walked along a boardwalk towards a shelter that featured red banksias and Balga trees. The bush contained the smell of spring mixed with the defecation of dogs. He counted the different species of ducks resting on the bank, five black ducks, three coots, a goose and some other meandering waterbirds he didn’t know. As he moved closer the ducks skimmed the river in an impetus of flight. He sat down in the gazebo and waited. He felt uneasy after a painful day, as if his intestines had been dragged through a bottomless pit. Sitting, waiting for someone he didn’t know always made him anxious. He’d spent most of his youth waiting for some individual with the goods so he could score. Waiting and pacing, he’d done plenty of that, until he got to know May at university. Meeting her after a tute was always pleasant, her tenderness making him feel relaxed.
He tapped his phone for the time. Four twenty. Steve was twenty minutes late. He wondered about Steve and his culture, especially the indigenous culture in the bush. He previously met two guys at uni, one an exchange student from Angola, the other from Karratha and found them to be fun loving. People were all the same to him. What he didn’t like was some of his own kind: white, privileged with notions of superiority. Nor did he like their bullying towards Asian students for passing every unit, getting high distinctions. Those residual places still tarried in his brain. He remembered the good years, being in male company in groups at the pub, laughing, watching out for May as she’d sashay past; his heart enlarging, filling with adoration. Those university days, where he’d learnt to smile. He knew he must have been thinking about them for over forty minutes when he glanced up and saw Steve heading towards him slowly, arm in arm with a friend.
‘I had to bring my brother. This is Buzz.’
Buzz held out a hand and kept it still as if waiting for Isaac to reach out to it.
‘You have to shake it, he can’t see.’
‘Oh yeah, Buzz. I’m Isaac.’
‘Born blind, but he can paint.’
‘I’m here,’ said Buzz, ‘and I ain’t deaf.’
‘Sorry, man,’ said Steve, holding the boy in a half hug.
‘It’s okay,’ he said, softly. Buzz moved closer towards Isaac touching him on the chest and then his hands travelled over his face. He giggled, then said, ‘Skinny, hey?’
‘Yeah, and I’ve got blonde hair.’ Isaac held Buzz’s arm by the elbow, holding it against his shirt. He lifted the boy’s hand up to feel his hair. He giggled some more.
Isaac figured he was not much more than fifteen. His upper body and chest seemed out of proportion with his thin legs. He was neatly dressed in a windcheater and denim jeans, his hair cropped short with a wisp of fringe in front. He wore two gold sleeper earrings, not in each lobe but clipped to the side of his left ear. Buzz had unmoving eyes which informed everything about him, and Isaac knew it was rude to stare into the face of a blind person.
He pulled Steve aside, out of his brother’s earshot. ‘He’s not going to, you know?’ asked Isaac.
‘Nah. He’s cleverer than me. Pop thinks we’re out for a walk. You know… I hate lying but I need a smoke. So, how much?’
‘On me.’
‘We can’t stay here. We’re going over there, past the horses. There’s a big drain we can sit in, should be dry.’ Steve grasped his brother’s bony wrist and guided him along the boardwalk. He stumbled at first, until both he and Isaac shifted positions, lifting the boy high in the air and back down again. Buzz made a babbling sound, ripping into boisterous laughter.
‘You’re a bloody funny bugger,’ said Steve, looking at Isaac. He pointed to the bridge. ‘It’s over there, on the other side.’
Isaac and Steve let the boy go as they crossed the bridge, Buzz tapping the rail with one hand as he walked along. ‘I’ll have a cigarette if you’ve got one,’ he said.
‘Yeah, sure. I’ve got tobacco.’ Isaac turned to Steve as they walked through the crushed path. ‘He allowed to smoke? Cigarettes are just as bad as Kelp, you know.’
‘There was one time he had some, and bloody nearly broke his leg, dancing, off his head. So, no. He doesn’t do it anymore.’
‘Only got one vice. Ah, nah, maybe two. Girls!’
‘You got a girlfriend?’ asked Isaac.
‘Yeah mate, and she’s a corker,’ said Buzz.

Adelaide_MagazineOct

5 Poems in the October 2019 Issue
After a long wait to see my prose poetry published, they are finally online (as viewed in early November). Since researching the journal I have discovered that a month’s publication of poetry, fiction and non-fiction by various writers remains featured on the main page for over a month. Although there are 54 writers published in this issue, I have been fortunate enough to appear in a prime position on the main page with 26 other writers. This is a first, and also a first to have my prose poetry published in a New York magazine! http://adelaidemagazine.org/october2018.html