tears

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

Christmas eve

bushfire smoke

sits in pits

of lungs flown

far away

the fight

still fluttering

ragged

animal fear

resides

human organs

overlaid

by today’s

hotgreen grass-smell

of primary school T-ball

in Lynden Park

can’t tell sometimes

sweat from tears from dew from bore water from

precious reservoir

can it be spared?

Saved?

Me? I am free

on knees

taller than trees:

to all of thee

Christmas merry x

 

Photo: Claire Doble

Passionfruit

There’s a tangle of tears

trapped inside like

one of those wire balls

of fairy lights

 

quivering like a mouse

with stone-giant hands

how to hold the precious things

while the rest gets torn down

 

walking as ghosts

puppet-shadows loom behind

grotesque approximations

of life split in two rhymes

 

somewhere cracked open

like a passionfruit, purple rind

waxy, strange, so different to

the gold ooze inside

 

What I want to say is

there’s an ever-distanting, displaced

version of me

and I’m worried about her because

she’s going on her way

and I’m here trembling

like a rodent

who’s been caught in sharp light

not sure whether to run or die

start a new life

my brain held in

rock-giant hands like

a bowl of bright-smelling ooze

studded with shiny black seeds

and those softspider veins

while cave-light shadows

make small mockery

of insignificant me

with a snarl of tears

caught inside

like a barbed-wire bottle

of fairy lights

 

 

 

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

Bluelight

The world makes itself anew

colder and darker

in this hemisphere

begins to shutter herself

for winter and why

do I always see a dull sunrise

over the Piccadilly line

those rows and rows of human homes

neat and pointed, roofs as far

as the eye can see

I can see

the world begin and end here

maybe

mean old time

is a bully from Greenwich

a bleak day

for a new year

as the pall of a zillion tiny screens

slides over faces

uncaring and uncareful with unshed

bluelight tears