I learnt permanence from the beach
the way the sand never shifted
and the dunes stood still
a dead spike-backed fish
forever there, the arcs of tides
ancient and fixed
I learnt love from the sea
constant, predictable
ever reliable
turn your back, nothing happens
risk free
and the rocks, so orderly
I learnt life from the wind
always that solid blue
careful, unchanged
no cloud-claw wisps
nor breeze-tossed leaf
to mar my view
can’t stop touching
my face
sucking fingers
biting nails
turn my cheek
to be licked by the wind
run at birds
who beat, beat, beat
wingflashes of white
in sea-salt air
they’re still scared
of me, I’m alpha
right?
the world has not
changed its laws
fragile, stupid, greedy
glorious
needy
I want to swallow the sky today
Is it mine?
ripples in water
make perfect art
for no one
to own
devastated
reinstated
again, again, again
can’t stop touching
my face
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
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
my sands are shifting
and the tides
always the same but
look at the minutiae
different every time
so how
do you justify or feel safe
always, it vibrates
buzzing with life or at
mechanical pace
like the train rattles by my place
at night, dark speedthought tangles trace
catch and drag
that undertow when sleep
is lying backwards
underwater and
looking up at the light
nowhere else to hide
and no place to return to
do, do, do, do
ideas massed like kelp piles, stinking high
how do I…
where is, why,
just write.
fell into a funnel
it was a mirror
twisted with facets of
different traits reflected
a picture of Dorian Gray
beauty of wedding days
words, words, words
into the fray
searching for an oasis
a place to find ‘me’
desert island faced with
grains
truth infinite
as sand
Photo: https://unsplash.com/@jimgade
