A Water View

One day

I want to lounge on my deck and reflect

on the reflections of the ocean

as the sun’s rays reach the blue of the sky

and are refracted in the water

into what appears to be an infinite number of tea lights

lit up and floating on the sea’s surface

so harsh that sunglasses are a medical necessity

because to look out without them

could literally result in being blinded by the light

which would be a shame

to have a water view you couldn’t watch

you could still feel the breeze

so cooling and refreshing

like an enormous invisible oscillating fan

strong enough to send seagulls soaring

you could still smell the beach

a combination of salt and freedom and carelessness

you could still touch the sand

so soft, yet gritty

but it really would be a pity

if you couldn’t sit and watch the edge of your world

tip over the top

of its almost inconceivable horizon
and at night if I saw a light out in the darkness
when the moon makes the waves' ripples look like stairways to heavens
I would imagine the boat is manned by smugglers
looking to come ashore in a cove
because as we all know
smugglers only seek coves
not beaches or bays

and when night meets day

I want to lounge on my deck and reflect

on whether the reflections are jewels they dropped

as they made their way to shore

 

Pilgrimage

As we pulled into the carpark
to your beach
I said
"It does my heart good"
Then we walked to the water
and the sand was so baking hot
that taking off shoes would have to wait
so we stood and assessed the erosion
then made our way closer to the waves
and headed south

In your sand with my hand I drew a heart
took a photo, couldn't see the screen, so missed a part
and then we made a start
for home

I asked if he enjoyed the visit
I'm pretty sure he didn't
because he replied: "In my own inimitable way"

Perseverance

The technology they have these days
will take your breath away
I saw footage of a caterpillar that
for fourteen years
froze to death then was reborn
when the summer warmed its blood
and melted the ice that had stopped its heart from beating
For fourteen years it furiously fought to build a cocoon
but every year the winter would come to soon
and it would have to close its eyes and wait to try again next year
and  then, at last, in the heat of the sun
it spun
and spun
and spun
and wrapped itself so tight
until it was time for flight

Handle On It

Oh yeah, she's got a handle on it
helps her carry it everywhere she goes
Oh yeah, she's got a handle on it
firm grip
won't slip
doesn't drop
won't stop
can't shake it
never break it
got herself too strong a handle on it

Keeping You On My Greeting Card File

Mamma, 

I hope this note finds you.

I remember the presents you wrapped with candy canes attached. You’d never done that before. You curled ribbon around them as well, using the sharp end of the knife to create a spiral. That was the first and final time you’d ever take such care with presentation. You knew.

Dad’s okay. His misses you every day, but he has his birds and his binoculars.

I don’t know what to tell you about Lucy without hurting your heart, but we’ve made a start on getting her better.

Bec’s strong but she’s breaking. She has a good man by her side, so in time we hope for everything you would want for her.

Your baby boy is doing good. His temper still gets the better of him, if you were here you’d have words, God knows you’re the only one he’d listen to.

I guess you know how I’ve been going. I will improve, like I promised to.

Much love to you,

Your Lissy Lou xo.

The Sound Of Sunlight

The sound of summer sunlight is all around

it weaves its way and wraps her body as she rests on the bed

she’s aware of it warming her bare legs and back

she’s lying on her side so the light can cover her

(she’s never been completely comfortable with her own nakedness)

she can hear a koel call from outside

and the raking of leaves

“how do flowers grow?”

a child’s question rises from the next door neighbour’s yard

up through her second floor bedroom window

she doesn’t hear the answer

she feels the sound of sunlight

A Few Words On Eight Years

The sun sticks around a little longer this time of year
as if it can’t bear to call it a day and say goodnight
and the earth to which you were returned has turned
eight times around
it’s a circle we spin 
pretending we are walking straight ahead
but we come right back around to the end
I drove to our bend in the river today
it’s just a small stretch of water 
but my mind can reach right back
and as I walked along I thought I could smell
the sausages sizzle
the burning of hamburgers
and hear the roar of the crowd
I could picture you on the bank
so proud
I know this path well
and I used to walk it so tall
and although my stature hasn’t changed at all
it’s almost as if I’ve been reduced to a crawl

 

Worth Bottling

I saw a vial of my blood in her hands today
an out-of-body experience you might say
I’ve always managed to avert my gaze
but this time, no such luck
I looked up
and there it was
I was surprised at how much they take
but I guess we can make it quicker than it’s drawn
so the heart will never even know it’s gone
so much darker than when seeping from a fresh cut
more like a merlot
(not that I know my wines, or care for labels
five dollar plonk’s good enough for my table)
the procedure always awakens memories
the oversized chairs
the outstretched arms
the white rooms
the collection jars
the sting, the wait, the increased heart rate
the pressure on the vein, the cotton ball, the sticky tape

Half You: A Few Words On Forty-Three Years

I search your face for a sign of mine
hoping that a resemblance will soon provide
a sense that a part of you is still with me
or that the longer you’re gone the closer we’ll be
I have your hair and some parts of your heart
(a little bit warm and a little bit harsh
a little bit kind and a little bit tart)
and if I can learn to have half your strength
then your battle won’t have been a total waste

Amulree Street

They came and took the table today

one hundred bucks and they were on their way

sixty years of conversations soaked into its wood and glass

made with care and built to last

sat at by my mother as a child

given to my sister for a while

sold for a song

they came along

and took the chairs as well

 

Eraser

I looked at the clouds and it occurred to me
we are living two-dimensionally
if you look closely
they are actually
where God has erased the blue
to start again anew

Ponderous

I promised that once I had gathered my thoughts
I would give them to you
but on reflection
such a collection
would be
too disturbing for me
and a burden to you

"It's down to the shakes I feel"

The tremor never stops
my nerves are shot
a constant vibration like a tuning fork
hums through my hands
and the note it plays
can be seen in the almost imperceptible way they move
as if they have a constant source of energy to twitch
a switch that was never turned off
and now they’re paused on pulsate
and as I clasp the towel around myself tight
left hand always under right
at this time most every night
I wonder
what makes them shake in fright?

Under The Sun

I gotta say
most days it’s totally okay
that I don’t have an original bone in my body
take a look at the x-ray
all translucent white and cartilage grey
not an original bone in my body
all my thoughts come to me via osmosis
a sort of existential osteoporosis
leaving not an original bone in my body
a skeleton made up of other people’s musings
contemplations and confusings
not an original bone in my body
I prefer to read someone else’s poetry
I enjoy listening to another’s melody
I reap the rewards of their originality
BUT
when I Google search a great idea
that I think no one could have come near
only to find one hundred results from just the last year
well
frankly
that’s a little fucking annoying

Treble Clef

Set list scrawled on your wrist in ink and sweat
buzzers for parmigianas beep and they go to get
their beer and their chicken and their chips and their salad
you take the stage and slide between the chords of a brand new ballad
your hand shortens the strings and you sing of hearts and healing
and they are universal themes with which you are dealing
and in this pub in the city of a town that is not anywhere much
there is not a heart in the room that you could fail to touch
if they would just

listen

Six Ways Til Sunday

I have told him
I don’t want a funeral
just scatter my dust along our beach
and let it spread across the seven seas
six ways til Sunday
I have told him
I have no desire
for a permanent memento
or prominent monument
or for people to gather in grief
I have no wish to leave a lasting memory
just add my ashes
like some extra dashes of salt on the sea
and I’ll be free
and then you needn’t mourn for me
anymore

Script

She squeezes the child-proof lid
then taps the tablets out
the delicate white discs sprinkle on to her palm
so small they almost get lost in the lines
she calculates how many days they’ll get her through
and wonders how it would feel to take more than a few
and how much it matters that they leave a little residue
on her fingertips
she can taste the acidity on her lips
a powdered trace
she inspects her face
in the bathroom mirror
and looks into the inner
black pupiled void
and marvels at the intricate contrast
of the surrounding circle of green marbled glass

Decoder Ring

I thought of a song
so I decided to play it
but I didn’t make it
all the way through
it’s still on the screen
stopped at 1:56/2:41
I couldn’t let it go on
I’m not sure if she’s singing "in my house” or “in my heart”
but I know she is saying “you’ll stay”
just that one word
pulls so much
and takes me back
in time
to when I heard this tune
almost every day
“stay”
you didn’t
you couldn’t
and you wouldn’t want me to be this way
and I’m sorry I don’t think of you enough
or that I think of you too much
I looked up the lyrics
it’s “in my heart”
it’s in my heart
I know that part now
but I won't press play
I'll let us stay
paused