author: Belinda Rule

  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    War-room of a child's mind

    • Belinda Rule
    • 21 June 2016
    4 Comments

    I saw a younger girl, blonde hair in pink clips, spiral glitter sneaker laces - baubles of a treasured child that no-one ever bought for me. A girl in a parlour painting, and I the hairy spider hulking in the corner. In the war-room of the mind, I pierced my map with pins. How simple to trick her to some dirty culvert, hold her down, mar her white arms ... Civilisation was a hair draped on the head of a pin, each one of us poised, rigid, clutching our own pin still - I could see I would cramp with the effort all my life.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Trying hard not to die

    • Belinda Rule
    • 16 July 2013
    1 Comment

    Green and stony hills rise like mesa, thin and steep, like the holes in Swiss cheese inverted. A narrow road winds up and down and around. We have to hurry. My tires plough the verge: dirt falls to nothing ... Someone else is in the car: who?

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Fruit half-eaten by animals

    • Libby Hart and Belinda Rule
    • 13 April 2010
    2 Comments

    Lift up a stone, find a spider, fat as a grape ... Run, and I will be tucked up in the heel of your shoe, gnawing at the lining.  

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Science versus wonder

    • Kathryn Hamann & Belinda Rule
    • 08 September 2009

    With your cervical vertebrae upwardly inclined you talk of stars and wonder .. I explain how you are deceived, for we look down, pinned by the force seen as I drop this half-eaten apple at your feet

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