A Soldier Built Me
a Doll House
(A letter to my grandfather, I miss you)
​How much water did you tread?
Did you sleep? Were you fed?
Did the water reach your waist?
For every kill, did you remember his face?
Did the flies swarm your rifle?
Who did you beg for survival?
A government’s delight, a shooting chancer
He survived the war and instead died of cancer.
Poetry
Wild Yarrow for my Untempered Sorrow
Suzi, she was only sixteen
Still smiled even when the girls were mean
On her last night, she tried to dance
Her broken bones ruining her plans
They stopped and stared, they laughed and teased
She was bullied the last night she was seen
It’s just that time, they say, it was just a laugh
I wonder if their giggles chased her into the park?
Short Fiction
When I was 10, my neighbours were selling lemons. There was a small
make-shift stall, just trestle tables and a dream, a scribbled sign with lemons barely legible on a single paper sign. I could hardly wait to bounce on up the hill to get some. It was an Australian summer, droplets of sweat dripped down my pale chubby legs, my brown virgin hair would frizz in the humidity,
and the steep incline up Currawong Road left me aching for my Ventolin inhaler. Mum was asleep on the couch, she didn’t wake to see me leave. I had only one friend, but we played for hours all summer. We were friends a little too young and a lot too soon, but I learned so much. She was always there for me.
"I do remember you were very academically capable and very adept when it came to writing"
- Year 10 English Teacher,
Aidan Hogg
No Tears, No Tiers
The truth about running a cake business in your 20’s
Jess Webber-Lally is a 21 year old baker from the Yarra Valley, currently tackling the highs and lows of discovering herself in her twenties, navigating running her own cake business, while also working a fulltime job as a barista. Yet, The BumbleBee Bakery buzzes high around the Yarra Valley, creating customised cake orders as well as providing for local cafes, including Locavore’s Provedore, located in Lilydale’s main street. Jess works tirelessly to keep her business sweet like honey, but as structured and orderly as a bee hive..."
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"I couldn't escape the glare of the priest .
Even while I stood in the middle of the crowd,
he still found me. My father. He paced in front of the platform as bodies swayed above him, speaking animatedly and as lively as if it were theatre. His eyes met mine briefly as he stood, flaring his frequent burning hatred, and snuffing it before notice. I thought briefly about the father, doubtfully clutching my silver cross that hung at my chest helplessly as the delusional rants from the priest continued. I spoke a quiet prayer, loud enough only for Mr. B to hear, it was then when my father pointed at me".
Gothic Fiction Assignment, Swinburne University
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*My own photography & poetry
*Professional Yearnalist