poetry

Diamonds

I talk to doctors about medicines

and hippies about herbs

talk to mothers about bedtime

children about worlds

hit up activists with rhetoric

throw strangers with kindness

and if we’re talking

fake news,

what about

vitamins?

exfoliation

or diamonds?

I mean

are things just real

when we believe them

I miss

friends

and real conversation

 

Photo: https://unsplash.com/@mahkeo

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The year the solitude went away

20180605_133316

 

Looked up one day

it had gone away

the miasma of nothingness

not nothing: thoughts, private, personal contained

in heads and held stiff in upper lips

worlds secret and interior

projected now on screens rectangular

become

the same, shared, cyberflung

enmeshed sudden, and

unexpectedly

irreversible?

a sunset in London

as I wake to a West Virgina morn

while the sound of

flight 370 ruptures

our membrane of hubris

reminding us

we’re still trapped in beingness

and the addiction, the pornography

in the idea

of post geography

 

This poem was inspired by a wonderful interview with sci-fi author William Gibson “On technology, science fiction and the apocalypse” that I watched yesterday. In it, he talks about witnessing the advent of connectivity – being on a train station in central London where everyone was just standing around in their own thoughts, then, only one month later in the same spot, suddenly every person was  staring at their new smartphone. I’ve borrowed some of his lines, including the title. 

 

Photo: by me, it’s Swiss national day! 1 August.

PLANETS

Photo: by NASA @Unsplash

 

circling in our solar system

competing gravity

can be

 

so disruptive

knocked out of orbit

ecosystem’s off

where’s the off switch

life, I need to pause, regroup

oh, you just spit summer  

and say: here!

this is your holiday

enjoy me

so I lay my bronzing, once-pale body out

a sacrifice of sorts

to Greek gods playing with fire

and nothing

is permanent

they say they found water on Mars

 

we are the ants of ants of ants

playing in a cosmic sandbox

 

fishing line

listen to the wind

restless, tepid, tossed free

the babble of summer parties

floats by

I

throw myself like a fishing line

into darkness and back, back

in time to back-lane bins and jasmine

scented evenings

encasing friends

warm drunkeness

bottoms dimpled by

milk crate imprints and the tiny

gravel of old cement

crumbing bare feet

swished aside

long cotton skirts

eyes glance up

that window high

mine

that window high

eyes glance up

long cotton skirts

swished aside

crumbing bare feet

gravel of old cement

milk crate imprints and tiny

bottoms dimpled by

warm drunkenness

encasing friends

scented evenings

in time to back-lane bins and jasmine

into darkness and back, back

throw myself like a fishing line

I

float by

the babble of summer parties

restless, tepid, tossed free

listen to the wind

 

 

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

Dragon Breath

 

And I thought about what someone far away was doing

imagined

a length of yellow-white fabric with words printed on it

fluttering near a bedroom window

 

Someone flying long-haul in a plane through dark sky

right now, that twilight world of

stale-cold air, engine hum, the fittings’ faint rattle and the rustle

of other people

 

A view over the rooftops of buildings

(see the city’s ripped back sides)

 

Stepping alone into an early-morning kitchen

he puts on the light

feeling the unheated floor and seeing crumbs on the benchtops

makes no move to clean them away

 

The pattern: blush of bright pink, royal blue and orange

imprinted behind closed eyes

intersected with black, it’s a piece of clothing

that existed cheaply, wonderfully, in a previous decade

 

 

Bigger than Texas

the earth will take back

in heat and ordure

the shredded plastic bags

and bottle caps.

 

unbeautiful bits of nature

pond dust, saline scum and

damp piles of leaf and blossom scrofula

look like horror

brown-shiny beetles and chokey cockroaches

creep slow on sickly stick-legs

 

they take back the dirt

one insect footstep at a time while

seahorses attached to Q-tips

and seagullpigeons in rubber bonnets

are not raging like us

no

they merely persist

hoping to discover

that rubbish-island in the sea

the size of New South Wales

(because it’s bigger than Texas now)

– must be terra nullius for them

 

 

This poem was inspired by the novel Arkady (need to get back to polishing up my own dystopian story one of these days!) And also somehow by Singapore (pictured), a place where the lush fecundity of nature mashes with the nasty detritus and pollution of human industry.

 

Blue Crush

 

 

leaked my heart through my eyes

a soft blue sludge like

Blue Crush slurpee

what she couldn’t see

was the thaw

of a long-petrified glacier

that had been waiting

for her

release

 

behind those same bruised-blue-raspberry eyes

a sand-blasted

desert over which wind

harshly blows

eroding

thought and feelings

smoothing surfaces that

emotions slide off

like a Dali pocketwatch

I sigh, it’s time

to wait, redux

 

So I kinda bombed out on poetry month. It all got too much with the travel and everything. I was going to come back and write up the ones I missed but I don’t know if it’s really worth it. Some big changes ahead as I’ll start a new job in a few weeks. I need to spend the time in between contemplating what I want to do with my poetry and writing and/or HOW!

Photo: Moon jellyfish in Singapore Oceanarium by Claire Doble

Corridor

Newtown smells like limes

cocktails and

the soft dark night

smudge of bodies

we’re the old ones now

she says

we talk

gin and jogging, noticing

how I hold my friends

a physical thing

while their fingertips are laid

so gently in my head

like kisses, kindness

and life’s gentle wingbeats

whisper

I’m home. I’m home

Day 19 (sort of) – a poem written based on a paragraph that recounts a scene from everyday life