Freelance Writer, creative, and blogger dedicated to the creative development and wellbeing of marginalised children everywhere. Reach out for your next writing assignment.
poems that won’t obey.
vending pineapples with urgency money. exchange. quick. before the street guard surge Walking out of the money exchange kiosk I found my path blocked by a tricycle stretched with pineapples. A young man was urgently slicing his wares into plastic…
each new sun lights layers your narrative sensitive to light © 2019 Melinda J. Irvine
Seeing red flowers. For the first time. Seeing red flowers. Everywhere. Seeing. For the first time. It's amazing when you see something for the first time. It grabs at you and pulls you in, and you love everything that's bright…
the sand scorched heat and absence our monsoon rains are late this year and tonight (at last the night) the dogs will sleep inside fresh holes dug to the cool sand not like this burnt afternoon dusk, where the sun…
mid-summer heat settled shouts out curling leaf fronds brown and cracked clear voices cry rain hear us rain When my mother and sister arrived in Iloilo City 2 weeks ago, they both asked about the brown stuff they could see…
Is it possible to see a piece of art and not look for yourself? Or arrange each piece without turning it into your own autobiography of lost toys, lost time lost poetry, and lost vindications? Not today. Blogging-U: This blog…
connecting each to each building to building house to house pole to pole pod to pod me to me you from you post from post tribe from tribe boozer from boozer each from each disconnecting © 2018 Melinda J. Irvine
there’s art on the streets over every broken wall we see ourselves in paint there’s art on the streets in every broken leaf (or the dirty sea) we see ourselves we paint there’s art on the streets in every broken…
before any great journey is the silent division and brooding contemplation © 2018 Melinda J. Irvine
I saw myself at the bottom of a pink camellia bush stretched out and flailing as my younger self (a perky pink bud) looked away in disdain how could she know? that actually she was looking at herself © 2018…
5 double-sided pages of handwritten notes first he writes "I will not fight my classmates" all the way across the top then he writes 'I will' half-way down the page then he writes 'classmates' half-way down the page then he…
looking for something familiar in a dark place anywhere you can see rain on leaves and your own quiet reflection © 2018 Melinda J. Irvine
at night shadows strike already dark walls and your eyes create things not yet real with a weird filter © 2018 Melinda J. Irvine
like a shadow cast on wall sometimes you have to step back and remove your sunglasses or step forward and adjust your eyes to see what's real and what is not © 2018 Melinda J. Irvine
bawal = prohibited umihi = urinate diri = here !!!! = please
I wonder how many poets have written lamentations of unscratched fretboards plectrums and melodies swallowed? Maybe I should too ///
men with an oozing bellies calm fighting roosters water boiled by fire, pours to a plastic bucket duck eggs, grilled corn, peanuts hot, salted by hand flapping tarps and bright umbrellas wet school shoes sirens sounds, and shredded traffic a…
magnifying bits and pieces of something not mine? When you bring your life into the street, is it still yours?
Over this wall is a shopping centre aircon and security guards thousands of people over this wall Over the wall is a gasoline station aircon and fancy cars thousands of drivers over the wall Over that wall is a man washing…
His hands opened Her's holding onto love mine filled with photographs another's rasping my shoulder for money © 2018 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Post: Awkward I'm part of Post A Day 2018 Location: La Paz, Iloilo (Philipppines)
I woke this morning to the sound of a poem. It rained in through the night words and images. And yet even my first response was not to scramble for a pen, but merely smile and seep into a new…
I met a man today on a wooden ferry boat and between the two islands he told me a story. His story, of two boys once seven and once nine when their mother who died. Unable to make a sound…
.. stancia ma'am ... Estancia . .. ma' ... we both fit inside cooling pizza pressed to knees my head cracks the thin metal roof and the rider (his knees pointing upward) sweep the metal handles connected to the brakes…
while your eyes were closed i died blink k blink nk blink ink blink link blink blink blink blink © 2018 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Post: Blink I'm part of Post A Day 2018 Location: Estancia, Iloilo (Philipppines)
we wrapped it in tinsel green, red paper torn her toy mouse tethered to a lower branch the best present a little boy held © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Post: Cozy I'm part of Post A Day 2017 Location:…
where my hands fell (a single blade extensive by the wind) as much a knife as the anthropod animals eat their lunch in tiny bites © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Post: Bite I'm part of Post A Day 2017…
for weeks our sun lay hidden, inside rain and obscurity fragmented and forgotten she lunged piercing tree leaves penetrating mountain tips and cutting cutting fine each new stem of rice banana leaf torn and palm trees shred like ribbons above…
paying 10 pesos for photographs and a peek into her life Day of the Dead floral tributes hand woven (her own hands) into little bamboo baskets the hands of the poor in every bunch. © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily…
grass climbs old black wheel two handles rusted, never again held but hold you, little garden © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Prompt: Cloaked I'm part of Post A Day 2017 Location: Nambucca Heads (Australia)
When everyone ran, you remained the grim landscape the same colour as your dress and quiet genius as bushfires licked your garters you laughed that same laugh for decades. Old years pass and turn though just your slip remains you…
is it the familiarity of old things not ours? long since fashionable trinkets and jewels not ours the imagined pleasure of an old memory not ours that we find ourselves? in old wooden halls not ours? © 2017 Melinda J.…
Feeling athletic we scramble down (jackets off, hats on, sun hot) to the popular spot we rest among passing long weekenders and languages we don't understand. Rain lands on our shoulders rain lands on our hats rain lands on our…
as any great journey spring in the garden is a sunny place to sit watching the changing sky © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine This is my response to the Blogging University course Writing: Intro to Poetry (Day 4 Journey) Daily…
his face remains the historic statue static our dead at our mercy (us) the lifeless living alive under him remembrance at will and they we are dead still © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine This is my response to the Blogging University…
the rains are still and the flowers quiet stepping over mid-spring holly and a few eager blooms willing to risk the sun without water my feet crunch a tiny piece of the earth planet focused (old mountain patch) full of…
below ancient tree roots, where sun light fragments then fades, granite walls (in whispers) recreate these mountains © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Prompt: Recreate I'm part of Post A Day 2017
"I want to live there" he sees something beautiful in a painted book of peace From a Distance "Helicopters came and broke the world" he shouts upset He can't comprehend What all this war is for This wonderful book was found…
running across concrete, catching stinger (the 2pm sun) glaring (that bus driver) driving driving another 5 afternooned hours © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Prompt: Glaring I'm part of Post A Day 2017
In the Philippines don't drink the pink pepsi You might find her a little too spicy ... © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Prompt: Spicy I'm part of Post A Day 2017
pointing i followed his vague directions into some dark parade until a graffitied street, red stopped, then turned me out © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Prompt: Carousel I'm part of Post A Day 2017
How many little boys have passed tickets shouting their delight through this old steel gate? © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Prompt: Gate I'm part of Post A Day 2017
Photographing the top of sugar cane you can't see a group of kids following me along the hot road running back to a little bridge when I turn around. You don't see a man under that sun waving in delight…
"Jerry!" I called loudly, a fist filled with branches a cell phone camera in the other, awkward under the mass of white flowers trying for a picture. But it was a stranger who turned around walked back smiling and held…
It is not what you remember that is surprising it’s what you forget. Only hours later a FB photo emerges, or a video. And the fine details (already forgotten) seem to delight, then shock you. Tiny nuances, the sound of…
all the day she waits as afternoons roar with no passenger © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Post: Passenger I'm part of Post A Day 2017
to the top we climbed in the sunny shining "ulihi ulihi gid kami" they passed us by going to the down we are so late so very very late © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Post: Sunny I'm part of…
decades turned this wheel like clothes worn, falling into that place at the back © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Post: Wheel and Knackered I'm part of Post A Day 2017
dodging rain tubs filled with last night my morning begins along mud splatters and shouts of 'Ma'am! "You buy? Ma'am, you buy!" my green rubber thongs step around two tiny girls in freshly checked uniforms and bits of sun shine…
frayed texture almost silent poetry under foot © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Post: Yarn I'm part of Post A Day 2017
Jerry my little loop-de-loop from sun to gone, it sleeps but it never stops © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Post: Loop I'm part of Post A Day 2017
Thumbing the sketchbook I find the mental health section Volume 1: "She Thought She Might Implode:" In Blue Biro. Volume 2: (Out of Print) © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Post: Detonate and Volume I'm part of Post A Day…
city speaks her name lurid voices piss, the stained human shit a siren behind their streets his only triumph © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Post: Triumph I'm part of Post A Day 2017 This is my contribution for the…
adrift in the wash bucket he climbed my arm unmoored © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Post: Adrift and Unmoored
i am living a tradition my eyes pieces of tin, metal scraps for hands feet (torn nails) just look at my toes! but don't get too close you don't want to see all i've got © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Weekly…
you replay crouching behind a tricycle and surprising me with your collected "love potion" swirling leaves and flowers and petals "you will fall in love tita mel!" you shouted showering me in your wish. then once more for you. ©…
light passing torn clouds palm leaf rags tattered hut poverty a man into rice fields out the window of the bus © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Photo Challenge: Reflecting
There is a courage in final the last stroke the brush lain; there is a courage at final the full stop the send. There is a courage in final the last line the light turned the calling and ending the leaving you gone.…
Each morning begins before the sun appears over the cliff raining daylight along the leeward living below our 21st century sun. Monkeys grab at fruit scraps (sometime pets) a few chickens and fecund dogs wander a small shore. Children squeal…
wreathed boy spoke limestone or held bird © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Photo: Limestone statuette of a boy with a wreath of leaves
This moon has a scent black and pungent a small crack surrounded in smoke. It slashes at your door when the lights are gone, and demands a daughter. She bargained herself for her small sister’s stead (did the little girl see…
a weekend of rest, (I'm still blogging though for fun) back in his country reunited us wandering the festive streets remembering us in bright streets transformed the Dinagyang aesthetic a weekend of rest © 2017 Melinda Irvine Daily Prompt: Aesthetic and Overworked
You see what I see. See my world in my poems. Though you, you are unseen. © 2017 Melinda Irvine Daily Prompt: Unseen
She warms us, lights us. Of more is she capable, our centre, our sun. © 2017 Melinda J. Irvine Daily Prompt: Capable
We will watch the sunset painting names in bright colours (like a family). © 2017 Melinda Irvine Daily Prompt: Someday
Infinite layers of years, of bark, of living. Yet he can be told. © 2017 Melinda Irvine Daily Prompt: Infinite
"your daughter has committed suicide" my brother-in-law says to my 80 year old father "and it's your fault!" tonight after years of domestic abuse, violence and insults ... [i hang it up] he rings back, of course. crazed, demanding, belittling,…
3.30am neighbours finally silent, interstate plates homed. the street has wound down to wind and a few last lights: Christmas in retreat. © 2016 Melinda Irvine Daily Prompt: Retreat
Wandering the last of the roses, her festive garden colours Christmas days in mountain blues, lilacs and the tiny shades of bees. © 2016 Melinda Irvine Daily Prompt: Festive
Here I am 'home'. And my passport, driver's licence and cards all agree. And so I wander the lonely beaches here every day looking for new poems and pictures to discover, and hide from everything like Christmas or old friends…
There are no concepts inside the waves: nothing made up or imagined. Inside the waves there is only truth, fact, here and a deepening calm. © 2016 Melinda Irvine Daily Prompt: Calm
I saw a happiness in her, a change in fortune. Tiny pieces radiating colour from inside. And she again heard bird sounds and saw midday sunshine above trees. She felt something and believed again, she was light. © 2016 Melinda Irvine…
A highway passed here once, doors widened to commerce and community. Time and highways flee these places remaining only at a distance (like the monster you created). © Melinda Irvine Daily Prompt: Flee
Curtains take many forms. Mystical screens weave twelve decades of secrets. © Melinda Irvine Daily Prompt: Mystical
"I will come back here, new horizons, wildflowers and rest call me." As I promise to my cousin I do wonder though ... ... will I come back here? © 2016 Melinda Irvine Weekly Photo Challenge: New Horizon
I can vanish the moon. Oh, it's so easy to delete moons, sand spinifex grass and old memories. Keeping stuff is much harder. © Melinda Irvine Daily Prompt: Vanish
Fundraising to adopt Jerry has really binded my family as we all search for once sacred relics to sell. This little wooden bear was handed over enthusiastically with detailed instructions for pricing (which I will strictly adhere to as this little poem illustrates).…
Sound travels differently under the water. The familiar becoming noise, or the nothing become sound. Under the water each breath becomes a bubble, strangely reverberating I am an echo. © 2016 Melinda Irvine Daily Prompt: Echo I shot this video at…
Tired driving hands turn the wheel exploring white roadside flowers. Calm is their magic and, soothed by their spring arrival, those same hands return. © 2016 Melinda Irvine
displaying all the Australian blues, greens and golds, I am home again. © 2016 Melinda Irvine
© 2016 Melinda Irvine My contribution to the Blogging-U course Photography: Developing Your Eye II (Day 2 Mystery).
home is a tangle of paperbarks home is dad's buckled old ute full of brown dogs home is a black-sanded pathway past the swamp home is an osprey's nest rebuilt again last year home is the sound of glossy blacks…
in the beginning i remember thinking ... i will never ever board one of those dodgy carnival rides circling fiestas their steel support posts levelled out on rocks and pieces of concrete rubble. but yeh, i did. and yeh, i do.…
We walk along wet roadside picturing the new sunlight on rice farms, fathers and hardwork. Barefeet turn drying rice as trucks beep confused alarm at the white woman and small brown boy out in unsheltered heat. Flood water rushes through our…
i wish i could give you the beauty of this tree how (even in all this) rusted bars dirty glass framed with grime and plastic tubes roaring air-con dust clad window noise little pieces of wire strung bits of stuff…
i know we think our medical system is flawed (most likely it is) BUT have you ever seen an australian baby in our hospitals fanned by an old piece of cardboard, their IV drip hung on a window latch, and…
The window is open The curtains are curled The sun shines brightly I can't hear a sound Nothing is broken All lights are on No-one inside I am not afraid of the four rapid gun-shots © 2016 Melinda Irvine
bold lichen grows. no matter how many ways i look at you, i still don't know what colour you are. orange, red yellow. who are you? © 2016 Melinda Irvine Pondering the photos from my trip home to Australia last month.
time passes slowly before me each particle every fragment finding its own place finding its own time floating alone not lonely © 2016 Melinda Irvine
my mother's garden is older than me in places (it has places) i have never stood or seen until now, remembering cedar trees (dad planted them when we were little) and weekends spent collecting bush seeds, saplings and native vines,…
hanging resting smoking standing waiting © 2016 Melinda Irvine
i am ready to fly and the wind is with me ... © 2016 Melinda Irvine The lovely painting was inside an old book called 'Fairyland' by Ida Rentoul Outhwaite. I found in the shearing shed at my grandmother's farm…
allowing high-tide to wash over my body following dragonflies with sky-turned eyes eating on the sand together balancing on a bamboo outrigger calling two little boys to lunch searching for fresh tree seeds and leaves shaking sand from my swimmer…
bad me’ i heard his little voice say ‘bad me’ small head turned into the pillow ‘bad me’ i had scolded him for breaking a yellow colouring pencil he stomped it into two pieces discarded for garbage i found it…
who do you choose? gifted kids? poor families good grades always in school doctors dentists teachers 'good' boys always in school but what about other kids? poor families bad grades never in school laundry-work cleaners begging 'bad' girls never in…
“When you receive this letter, I shall be dead by then…. Tomorrow at seven, I shall be shot; but I am innocent of the crime of rebellion…. I am going to die with a tranquil conscience.” José Rizal © 2015…
i saw a woman hurt today inside a crumble of people staring as a man and security guard grapple toward a woman LOUD and voices indiscernable security guard LOUDER as man rushes at her, young woman his hand raised, fist…
the Plaza Molo transformed. where is lawn grown green that seated last December? dead lifeless garden remnants "are you drawing church?" asks policeman, pointing to red notebook 'no' hear myself reply 'writing it' smiles approvingly denied rain centuried brick falling…
Feeling strangely like cyanide The killing of my digital self I am afraid So bold hours ago I made lists So I would do it properly Not miss a thing Kill everything Insecticide myself Yet here I am I am…
they know exactly why they are smiling why I was arriving at 10.30 in the morning why they had to put on pants and shoes eldest sister points her little brother to the camera light smile for a sack of…
Speak to me of your truth without words letting your lips pass into silence; show me only in action letting deeds reveal the heart inside of you; speak not today letting the truth be in your quiet. Allowing the sounds…