Welcome to Phoenix’s world-changing Salon
A portmanteau. A treasure trove. A time capsule. A poetry book. A diary. A photo album. Memories. Dreams. Wishes. Hopes. An open letter to an unsuspecting public. An intimate confession to close friends. A declaration of intent. A whisper of love. A personal record. An experiment in introspection. A performance space. A political rant. A wild yawp. Why do any of us publish our words and images online? Come, dream with me.
Flamenco
Long fingers and silver rings; that rhythm; that flight Of forefinger down a string; that tap of the fingertips Against the golpeador — one of your legs is crossed over The other and it all disappears but for the music. That slight frown on your brow as your fingers...
Memento mori
His mother painted it, in another life. It is small — less than half a metre across, not quite square. At first glance, it’s nothing but greys, as if it could be Some 19th century industrial cityscape or Soviet town, But closer in, you see touches of white and...
If voting fails, break glass
It goes without saying that spells of this kind generally require a kitten; At least one, more if there’s a storm brewing — the weather Is a fickle assistant. As to breed, well — the more docile specimens Tend to disrupt proceedings less. Location is your...
A box of old photos
In storage, one cardboard box filled with photographs. I know one grey envelope contains: Peppy, full name Peppermint, Aged 2 or so, inspecting one minuscule ball of black kitten fluff, Two weeks old, soon to be Nemesis, by name if not by nature. In storage, seventeen...
Through the looking glass
A poem about me in which nothing is true She’s humble; speaks little. Mousy they call her, when they notice her. She’s happiest on her own. Never thinks twice, quite content. Quick to praise and no regrets. She tends her garden, diligent, and Basks in the slow...
Peggy
She’s practiced at it. You can tell: expensive dress, eyeshadow just so. The way she dips her eyes and glances over your shoulder, as if There’s something she’s idly wondering but of course, it’s a ruse. She’s scanning escape routes and planning getaways she...
Every heart a doorway
Thresholds have never been what you’d call safe And over the years, the rituals have gotten silly (after all, the phrase ‘swept off her feet’ only make sense Where a certain kind of force is called a ‘bridal carry’). And love (well, trust) creaks open old...
The ravine
Step off. Or not. It’s one of those decisions that hovers at your peripheral vision — are you ready? Wings unfurled at your back, that sensation of almost-moistness lingering — will they hold?
And you are listening
It is 10.40pm in Paris and they have taken hostages at the Bataclan It is 11pm and somewhere on Facebook a kid posts: "they are killing everybody. one by one." It is 4pm in Melbourne and my friend is giving birth to a little boy named Clancy but I don't know that yet....
When I was 12
i ran away and for one wild secret day anything was possible i huddled in the recessed entry to the Commonwealth Bank in Garema Place and watched a procession of police who (i was pretty sure) were looking for me i guarded my precious solitude for hours today’s an...
Bet your bottom dollar
The act of saying goodnight Is such an act of faith: Belief in rising sun, living children, Dawns to come
Six scant years
The year my daughter was born I thought maybe we were starting to get it right after all A woman was prime minister of Australia And Julia was eloquent and sharp And fought for justice, climate, all the ways (we thought) You'd expect a prime minister to be And there...
Nice
I don’t know how (some) women do it — I see you out there (tumblr, Facebook, twitter, lj) — you are as virulent, vicious, outraged (hurt) as I feel by this endless parade, this daily offence, this unrelenting (drip drip drip) staccato of dismissal, disapproval,...
Intersections
On the banks of the river Tajo I sat with Alvarez talking about Deleuze Curious, soft — moments of discovery. In Queensland heat — a bar at 11pm after cat empire reigned with those horns and that Wurlitzer sound circling around the heavens – How many of these...
Mute
In the first heat of summer 2014 I lost all my words. They fell away from me like scales Or rather were trapped in my head Unable to emerge from closed lips. Touch and gesture were left to me And so, being inadept in their use, I learned to accept discomfort Unable to...
It all adds up
A cardboard mock-up of the grassy knoll And route markers along a Dallas road Is an odd toy for a child, especially in 1970s Australia. Little wonder I graduated to 10 Days that Shook the World and Huis Clos at 14. Even less that Seymour Hirsh and Da Nang haunted my...
Righteous anger, right?
It’s past time, people. Rise up. How foetid does the stink of corruption have to be? Rise up. How much ice has to melt? How many fires burn? How many forests? How many teenagers must be shot? Rise up! How many journalists must be jailed for you? When will the...
Rehearsal
Many years ago, in the long ago times of dish-pan hands and iced-coffee banana shakes with three scoops of ice-cream, a time before gluten-and-dairy intolerance, a time before it seemed I knew anything about weight loss. It was a time of Oak shakes — coffee and...
Phoenix Emberstone
passionate political poet
These are poems and meanderings that made their way to the page. I’d love to hear what you think of them. Want to get in touch? Drop me a line!
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I am also known as Ro Bersten, a communications specialist with more than 20 years’ experience. See my CV and professional projects.
