ocean

aurora australis

in the night

in the night I pray

no

i hold my hands in prayer position

think about the good

things, the small

things, the ordinary

things like

my kids are safe

my body is sound

i have a job

as my eyes can’t stay open

in the night

in the night he

talks

my north star

like a sea

constant, lulling, sound

at anchor

washing over me

holding true

in the night

in the night I wonder

what else?

should I do

things like – oh

the racing

relentless

uneasy

part of me that can’t rest

i’m stuck

ragged

pinned to corkboard

at best

 

Photo: not the aurora australis but it may flicker on the horizon here later tonight! 

periphery

I will live bravely

the life I want

will not be found

between the walls

or compartments

of a salary

it is shining out there

where

the horizon meets the ocean

at the edge

of my headland

and in the corners

of imagination

I will not be defined

by what bulls, bears

and bossy men say

when they think they

know better

than me

I do not believe

the lies

of politics

office or otherwise

I will let them laugh at me

moving

into the periphery

they cannot understand

the depths of how

I think beyond, around

and through

a needle

piercing

their mundanity

Marbles

thoughts scatter like marbles

across a cool slate floor

caught in contours

and contusions

picked up and warmed

trailed like lazy hands

from the edge of a boat

the half-wet feel

of touched glass

oiled like eyeballs

what sights

from the eyrie

floating high

surrounded by marbles

and thoughts

scatter-smashed

lost in depths

unleashed, unknown

 

Photo: Claire Doble

Kestrel

I lived in addiction

on the brink

clawed myself back

to a safe haircut

and admin

until

I lost myself

like

ocean weed in the sea?

somewhere

in the

midst of

competing priorities

some days

it’s a grey fog

oh come on

it’s just a

job, job, job

Oh, I was soaring over

the headland once

a kestrel

redgold edged

against blue

now I’m

smashing against

the wrong side of right

searching for

whatthefuck knows who

 

Photo by Michael van Gorkum on Unsplash

 

Danger

let wind kiss skin

starved of affection

waves stroke and soothe

a new years’ benediction

smell of smoke and airline fuel

a change of direction

old perfumes stir memories

pain, and its reflection

all the deeds unpunished

must live in the body

alongside achievements

like running, like love, like danger

unacknowledged

 

Soundcloud: https://on.soundcloud.com/K7Nva

 

Photo by Nadia Jamnik on Unsplash

jacaranda

forgot I fell in love
with street corner
concrete
and patches of sunlight
falling aslant
where the
pavement
swells with roots
of fig trees
like your leg
against mine
under the summer
sheets
after we
oh
there’s that, too
the lilac of
jacaranda
strokes my eyes
offset by
sapphire sea
I’m drifting
into Jeff Buckley
again
yearning
early
emotion
I’m not sure this is new
or far too
late
blooming
as candy clouds
like a sweet sort of joke
pastel caress
kiss, kiss
kiss, more, more please
kiss
at my throat

perpendicular

high on the escarpment

in a train

white cockatoo flies

exactly the speed

wing-beats, pace same

I’m choked

with need

to be

in love?

or grief

tendrils reach

from a thorn-spiked heart

sinuous and green

into the thick undergrowth

lustrous, keen

gymeas ridiculous

Quentin Blake sketch

in a stringybark forest

perpendicular

bridges from

a childhood book

with an old man’s pride

and tragic accident

to overcome

oh!

the ocean glints

and froths

whiteblue, whiteblue

in the distance, so

utterly beautiful

that rock shelf

like bricks, like stones, like fossils and holes

I yearn to be

whole

entirely

immersed

with spray in my face

spindrift, salty

it’s something like homesickness

or lust

ancient craving

carving

can’t explain

the deep interior

sea-cave

heartspace

soul-pain

 

Photo by Ryo Nagisa on Unsplash

 

September

September, September, September
suddenly everything I read
says September! although it generally means
autumn, northern
not sultry sudden-summer breeze
September! marker, moment of stepping through
the brink, the precipice
of spring, sudden launch in
to a shock-cold waterslide thing
with bushfires ahead
not cozy nights
closing in
with
Halloween pumpkins
a flickering torch in a garden
scent-lit by warm-jasmine
on closer inspection
turns out to be
pixelated, muzzeley
not a real flame
immediately
September!
a start or an end?
put my hand in the still-cool water
realise if my palm is the bay,
the knuckles sandbar, my arm’s the channel out to sea
and me
– I’m out there, not the land
but a floating, liquid being
ocean-whole and once again
I wonder
does it mean
to finish, or begin
September, September, September
a door
a spark
an ember
Photo by Tengyart on Unsplash

tide / goodbye

you couldn’t invent the tide

or the blood in my eye

imagine creating

a land

where waves

rushed in

once a day

then left

sand

like the bare spot on your chin

I see from one side

and wonder if anyone

else has spied

do you feel that

something

between us,

the sea and the sky?

or are the pebbles in my mind

worn too smooth by

tumbling

endless thoughts

washing nigh

turning over and over and

the way they

swell and subside

not even a hangnail

to catch certainty

just a shallow

goodbye