ocean

Darksparkle – video clip

I really enjoy artist collaborations. They end up so much more than the sum of their parts.

A friend and filmmaker, David Bugeja of Catmari Productions, was inspired to create a video clip for my recently recorded poem Darksparkle.

To be honest, it makes my reading sound a bit shabby! But I adore what he’s done here.

 

Stretch marks

Stretch marks on the ocean

silvery, tired

trying to remember I’m vast

sparkling, a

mother

fucker

more than, enough

can’t be contained, tamed

in a single glass

wine? whiskey? why?

I yearn somedays,

mostly Sundays

afternoons

for self-absorbed

oblivion

a sweat-beaded bottle might provide

those sweet lies

politician in a suit

sneakers and no tie

Modern. Woman.

leaning in

hi!

time to change

time’s are changing

it’s like

holding on to a boyfriend cause

he looks good from behind

only realise

that metaphor

means

he’s long gone

in my mind

can’t win

with an exit-man

start again

if you can

find enough

water in the ocean

to stretch across

exhaustion

make a new thing

never stop

aching

Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/clairevetica/stretch-marsk?si=10a516776fd04d1c9232bb1db7c76e1f&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

Photo: Claire Doble
 

broken glass

more picnics mean

more broken glass

it’s not me

or any of my

friends

we wouldn’t do that

who would

stare out to sea

and ask

if the rusty anchor’s still wedged

on the island

where waves attack

shipwreck litter

you’d be stuck

with a fine these days

for that

and I heard the sailors were

all unvaccinated

in 1870

selfish pricks, I wonder

was their captain schooled

by Opus Dei?

someone who

eats roast koala

for tea

picks his teeth

with the constitution

casts icy eyes over

the cash flow of

stamp duty to

developer, it’s only the poor

who choose to buy

on flood plains

my Hilux explains

I’m OK

burning finest quality

trees in aspic

4.2 litre diesel

smash the plastic

P plates

in the car park

by the boat ramp

someone will

tidy up

for you

black water laps

against the morning shore

faint tang of petrol

in the air

it’s safe for kids

so clean

because

our land is

rich and free 

Photo: Claire Doble

Winterise

 

frigidaire air

cold on bottle-green arms

inhale exhale, snuffle-gulp

chill shots, no covid

don’t touch

turquoise face

stretch

alabaster calves

yellowhite, marbled

tight, neat, chocked, clocked

surprised but not shocked

ready to run

here it comes

breath like a vape

grey morning takes

extra

moments

to

arrive

pinkorange imperial glory

of clouds over

water as

ghosts glide

majestic

winter sunrise

 

Photo: Claire Doble

Skytumble

skytumble

and the breeze

tosses me

around

batters my

spiked edges

smooths

the turmoil

of the soul

I watch the

lines of cloud

chased to the corners

of blue

funnelled towards

a far edge, reaching

white, high and fleeting

and below

and beyond

waves rise

out at sea

alarmingly like

the dream

I had

last night

of a tsunami

greygreen

they’ll reach my windows

engulf the house

tight-sealed but

ominous

a trickle

down the wall

all-engulfing

enthrals

colours in a

tropical storm

aquamarine

slides sideways

more like

quiet horror

than fright

 

Photo: Claire Doble

The Wreck

A wreck of gold and crimson

over the horizon

an island out to sea

not far

frothed in waves and it’s

windy out there

back home the damp seeps

into everything

carpet, eiderdown, towel and bone

while the daughters rev and roar

next door

smoke blooms in the night

once more

peachlight clouds against grey-to-black sky

nostrils flare

all is so quiet but that smell of fire

over the horizon

there

it’s

a wreck of gold and crimson

beyond the shore

Photo: https://unsplash.com/@wtexxfaa1

Somewhat inspired by https://poets.org/poem/diving-wreck

cradle to grave

I’m afraid

I am not brave

fingers move

over stitches

bump, bump, bump

tiny precision

treadle, needle, spindle, cradle

what good does it do

to share your opinion

say fix it

my way

drink and pass out

in front of the TV

when every night

I imagine

swimming out

scarred, unscared

because

I won’t return

to worry

about courage

unaired


Photo: Daniele Levis Pelusi on Unsplash

treadmarks

 

I am the watcher

the runner

unofficial custodian

alone

non-partisan

my feet pray

to mother earth

my breath

synthesises

salt-sea molecules

of sky

and my eyes

monitor

the ways

in sweeping surveil

from mountain

to ocean

and over there

the horizon

mine not mine

owned only

in a global

internal

knowing

tread the land

stomp the sand

it’s yours, ours, no one’s

take care

 

Photo: Claire Doble

unshed

scaggy bits of behind-fences

scan past, scad by

on the side of the train track

and I see the torso of

a dead deer or kangaroo that had

too many ribs too close together

and some of the skin was still there

my unuttered scream

is trapped somewhere in my chest

or at the base of my neck

an anxious vapour, a cloying veil

I am so afraid I can’t cut through

and share the poignancy of the world

beside the railway or

the pink clouds over the ocean

that are the colour of a ribbon for a girl

a pink ribbon that would show a spatter of blood

bright red at first then fading to brown,

rusty like dirt like old wounds like

dusk of the golden hour like

Sunday on the shortest day of the year

as evening closes down like

unshed tears, a stain

somewhere near my heart

a red-brown patch that

will never be washed away

do you know this feeling. Do you? Do you

do you unweep, unscream

and hold that feeling, yes that one

in your body

on a train?

 

Photo by Emile Guillemot on Unsplash