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
Evidently the sea
has taken away the sand
leaving rocks where
before it was dunes
and my shifting day
stole away an idea
beauty shimmered, lost and
never wrote it down
one request got through
(and first thoughts
are not best regarded
– even angels fear to tread on broken beaches)
besides, I have poems to write
Photo by Jan Kahánek on Unsplash
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
gulp that salt-chunk air
sob
tear hair, wild green grass
ragged
sky-tossed waves
brine, not mine
nowhere
buzz on rocks
flies,
sandgravel-spray
ozone
flotsam
angry brain
fierce tide
floatswirl
relentless awake
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
clairevetica 