31 July 2011

Alchemy: poem

Who's that across the crowded room?
Sullenly silent, drink in hand
all jagged edges, slicing words.
I feel I know her, what's her name?

I feel her pulse, her raging heart,
her sightless wander through our lives,
her fitful struggle to transcend
the cold worn grooves of hollow steps.

She slithers wraithlike out the door
as laughter falters, with a sigh.
That sharp and scary, scowling girl
I think just might have once been me.

24 July 2011

Not begging: poem

Aborignal lad
bare-chested and painted
breathes life inexpertly
to the didgeridoo.

Occasional coins tossed
by fast moving shoppers
turning their faces from
an invisible truth.

His elders are long dead
from the grog and disease,
or soon will be dreaming,
so he's travelling alone.

But he is not begging;
he plays us a glimpse of
a hard-won achievement,
that should fill us with awe.

17 July 2011

The sound of green: poem

Fragile creatures crawl
silver trails of moist meanderings.
I am the music of rain
bouncing on leaf trampolines.
A gentle percussion.

A verdant carpet of moss
cushions your cinnamon slumber
as with each breath
I am inhaled, immersed.
My heart arrested.

And then. I live again.
as you exhale a dream
of birdsong and falling leaves.
All things are possible
I can write the sound of green.

9 July 2011

July stones: poems and observations

Joining the river of stones challenge for July 2011


31 July
Tubular orange blooms drape the white stucco wall in a fluorescent curtain, reminding me of the 1970s.

30 July
A kookaburra perches on top of the spindly pole of the sewer vent. Its chilly plumage, a feathery plug for the rising warm fetid air.

29 July
A little more daylight
a little less night
I walk a little further
Spring is in my step.

28 July
Tossed toe-nail clipping
New moon imprinted
On the morning sky.

27 July
Eyes lock on glowing screens,
fingers tap and thumb at
mute conversations.
I seek a simple smile
on the bus ride home.

Ibis glide in graceful arcs to join the night roost; their honking greetings rise above the roar of the traffic below.

25 July
The delicate pinks and greys of the Galah are brushed across the canvas of rainclouds at sunset.

24 July
Two rainbow lorikeets, like harlequin vultures, perch atop the limp form of a ursurping Mynah bird.

23 July
Draped over my sleeping waist
darting tongue seeking my ear
little foxy dog greets the day.

22 July
Umbrella carcass
skin flayed, ribs exposed
drowned in the deluge
flaws unforgiven.

21 July
There is no shelter. Water gushes through rusty street awnings. Buses dump drenching waves. Rivers run under my sodden feet.

20 July
Pigeons paddle
in a violet puddle
beneath a neon sign.

19 July
The bus crawls slippery streets, jostling its bellyful, forcing an intimacy with wet wool, long hours and a sour hint of urine.

18 July
A suspended eerie stillness
as muddy clouds amass
in a sinister armada
has me scurrying for home.

17 July
Two anxious lads, caught
like roos in headlights
as the smell of pot
escapes their furtive lair,
sweetly wafts my way.

16 July
The city is smudged,
the horizon furry
as mould on old bread.
A glass pane divides
that drizzly softness
from my jagged self.

15 July
A flying fox hangs
arrested grimace
on the overhead wires.

14 July
Fierce-faced red wattlebirds fend off interlopers, desperate to raise their chicks before the Spring cuckoos arrive.

13 July
The morning sun burns a white-cold halo where Centrepoint tower's needle has punctured earth's grey quilted skin.

12 July
Wire-cloaked double As
of Sydney Anzac Bridge
stand poised and proud before
evening's orange spotlight
until day's curtain close.

11 July

Pink and grey galahs strut unconcerned by the busy roadside, plucking at roots from the verge, ignoring the intruders in their domain.

10 July
A dainty black cat, bell at its neck, flattens at my cajoling to slither down the gutter drain. Someone's princess, out for the night.

9 July
From the blanket nest
twitches and whimpers
of giant adventures.
Secure in his lair:
my little foxy.

8 July
A wattlebird guards a Callistemon's sweet ruby brushes. Its hoarse scold and spitfire tactics send an interloper tumbling towards me.

7 July
Scorpio stretches herself across the canopy, smaller stars hiding from unseen turmoil. I ponder the orange dying star on her back.

6 July
The wind, gusty and irritable, finally settles at dusk to silent sleep. Leaves cluster, arrested by gutter and tyre.

5 July
The dogs diligently search the garden perimeter for rats as a lone cricket calls its 3-syllables into the chilled night air.

4 July
A tidy line of ibis, brushed with morning gold, slowly traverses a sky left bare by the recent crimson swirl of rainbow lorikeets.

3 July
All is shrouded in mist as we descend. Suddenly the snaking road appears in the headlights, luminous gums leaning toward the intrusion.

3 July 2011

Prickling dream: poem

I dreamed
I stood at heaven's gate.
There was no bearded sage in white
no mystic choirs resonate.
Just a keypad and a flashing screen:
<Enter Password Here>

Oh No..
Parades of digits march in line.
Strings of letters loop and twine.
Facebook? Twitter? My mobile phone?
Or work - what about the toilet door?
Yes - I tried them all!

Oh bliss.
I'm launched to dizzy heights.
My body soars towards the light.
I'm water-borne, yet still in flight.
I am now Dolphin. I am Fish.
I surf the greatest tide.

I scrape
at living cavern walls.
My heartbeat echoes, my fins fall,
my soul yearns for where I was before.
Squeezed tight by fate, I plan escape.
Yet. Still I see the light.

Then spat
into waiting hands
that wash salt from my skin of sand.
Disbelief burns bright, then fades
as all I know is wiped; erased
but for a prickling dream.