the frequency of insects
brine and sea mist
foreshore slopes so
my ankles list
foam kisses feet
and I forgot
the most important
thing
to achieve
as haze across
greyblue sky-strings
clouds my mind
gulls murmurate
maybe this is
the moment
Photo by Peter Neumann on Unsplash
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
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
clairevetica 