moon

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

Like a Lover

Image: John Towner https://unsplash.com/@heytowner

 

Sometimes he treats me
like a lover
the drape of coat on my shoulder
finishing touch, perfect object
of affection

the night where
we fell
no, not like that, but still

I wonder if it
could have all gone to hell

the patched-up,
still-brilliant tooth smile
of shared belonging

our concurrent ways
hurtling through space

time spent, time wasted
so wasted…
the wax and wane of
sun, moon, stars
and
guitars

My sometimes brother
my almost lover
we are

like sibling planets
whose
orbits align