poems

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

Quiet

I don’t dream anymore

I sit and hold my shoulder

wait for the noise to end

when it does, my ears ring and

I gaslight myself, still it throbs

again, again

do I like the quiet

the sound of distant cars and ocean

invades my soul more sweet

than the motor noise of the

selfish pricks next door/ I don’t dream anymore

that reverb has eroded

my light, my joy

a sick trickle

of stale Jack Daniels

sour and tacky it

sniffs

in the back of my throat

an old injury

waiting to flare up

it could hurt me so good

it could, it could

but I don’t dream anymore so

maybe I’m safe

oh, the pain when it goes silent

and those whispers

of how to fight it

 

 

Photo: Claire Doble

Turning

At the turning into Autumn

I miss you

the soft thud of my feet

my heart

on pine-needle gravel paths

through forest

criss-cross sideways

up the mountain

swagged like

tinsel on a tennenbaum

a quiet deer sometimes

standing there

watching my ungraceful gait

from its lovely stillness

cool water in a hollowed log

meant actually

a whole system of pipes

beneath the ground of this

not-so-wild place

but I suspend disbelief

bursting out and around

body-singing glory

of movement

it doesn’t matter

if my knees knock and

I don’t look like

an advertisement for Asics

moving like

a lover above and below

worship and own, be owned

mine, surrendered

the exchange of breath and air

only distance

memory

pulls and aches

but cannot break

 

Photo by Johanneke Kroesbergen-Kamps 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

amber

put that in aspic

put it in amber

as the long gold

of a winter afternoon

draws on my heart

and the cravings start

to preserve that almost-there

feeling, like where

you dragged your lips

down my shoulder

or the nostalgic

sense of a new

room

in a rented flat

as sun slants

across clean paintwork

dust-motes dance

I would

tear apart

shred the world

just to

keep this

butterfly-bright moment

pinned

to my taskbar

like yearning, like wanting, like chance

but the light just

slips

through my hands

 

Photo by Jack B on Unsplash

Streak – with audio

I didn’t touch you

for months and weeks

and it grew cold

yet bright and dry

in those shining mornings

we would fly through

the world, rounding on

rock shelves and

my heart lifted as the

ache set in deeper

feet cruel and

whispering to stop please

why oh why can’t you

listen when we speak

throwing you down

in sacrificial streak

like gravel, like blood, like steak

ignored until a louder voice

must shriek and tear

away tissues and strings

destruction looms

if only you’d touched me

sooner, soothed or

seen my toil

we might not be in

this awful spoil

 

Recording of ‘Streak’ https://on.soundcloud.com/pnvXB

 

industrial abandon

missing my trips to the city

and how

the abandoned cokeworks

rotting away

by the train tracks

sent my thoughts

to that place

where things were so different

a secret world

I want to write about

immersed

in an industrial

wastelandscape

how can I capture this imagined

space

I don’t have those skills

or patience

scrolling in my bed

past my headache

reading about runner’s face

and Nick Cave

and grief

and grace

 

Photo by Darla Hueske on Unsplash 

living memory

he remembers

when my hair was long

a decades-old flirtation

not personal

if it ever was

with him

I remember

that pale, waxy skin

like marble

the feel

of boy-men muscles

along limbs

as I struggle

to catch slurred words

in a noisy pub

even though I’m sober now

he’s invading my space

after 25 years

of long-forgotten…

suddenly

confronted with

being seen

in a way I haven’t been

for ages

is it good or ill

to bathe

in that male gaze

again

I am, am I?

a person now

or then

how to define

myself

hard-up against that

strange

living-memory thing

the same things

In another amusing

twist of fate

or destiny

or conditioning

I’ve bought the same

kitchen table

as my parents

to go with

matching knifes

and our bread tin

a set of sheets

so many things

it’s dirty on

the underside

with old wine

when I

thought I was

so clean

dust in

the bathroom

like mum’s

I guess it is

conditioning

 

Photo by Paco S on Unsplash