the petal girl
skin silk pink
onion thin
blush
crepe paper sun-streaked fuchsia
and in
rain
battered
bruised
membrane
in
heat, frilled
unfresh edged
lettuce-leaf veined
browned in crush
curled
too sheer to
squeeze
still
beautiful
Photo: Claire Doble
Month: December 2019
Christmas eve
bushfire smoke
sits in pits
of lungs flown
far away
the fight
still fluttering
ragged
animal fear
resides
human organs
overlaid
by today’s
hotgreen grass-smell
of primary school T-ball
in Lynden Park
can’t tell sometimes
sweat from tears from dew from bore water from
precious reservoir
can it be spared?
Saved?
Me? I am free
on knees
taller than trees:
to all of thee
Christmas merry x
Photo: Claire Doble
Grave Yard
Bushfire moon
an eye prickly with tired
in the night
things expire
by day
the sand’s a ribcage and
there’s always dead things on the beach
is it unusual?
Embarrassed, shy by my
disconnect
I do not know
I’ve been away
it takes a year but
didn’t ask
in case
no one has noticed and
I’m afraid
what that might mean
I didn’t set out to write a series of ‘bushfire’ poems but I guess I did and it seems appropriate for this time of year in NSW, Australia as we’re suffering some bad fires at present. Where I am is OK, we are safe, but there’s smoke in the air most days.
Photo: Claire Doble
Bushfire sun
under a bushfire sun
tumbled in love
for a moment
with a footprint in the sand
sharp big-toe
like a spade, a trowel
I thought
of salt-touselled hair
a broad board
under sun-brown arms
light shining from
sea spray
running past
her trapped wing
half buried
desperate, poignant
flying here
smoke-choked
feather-singed
to die
Photo: Claire Doble
Phoenix
now there is bushfire mind
what’s formed in smoke?
what oracles
fight fire with fire
burning
to heal, desire
winging wide on wind
one sorrow,
two joy,
smile
kiss foot, hold ankle
lean down, stretch
what’s formed in sweat
what divine
bodhisattva rising
from ash
phoenix, fly
clairevetica 