poetry

atmosphere

 

between the top of clouds and

the lid of the sky

sunlight breathes shallow and sits

in thin air

her warm fingers edged with

cold wind

the weight of majestic rays

higher than mountains, above fields

alone, over hidden cities of busy lives,

the mess and rush of love and hate, real life

up here

not really anywhere,

significant

temporary

ripped only by metal wings or feathered flight

mostly, a lonely nowhere

except

hovering in that secret blue place

I ache and stretch tendrils of tenderness,

could I reach?

everywhere

my yearning

feels like atmosphere

 

 

 

The inspiration for this came in part from a poem by Frank Hubeny which conjured the idea of the sun above the clouds having its own little game up there.

I sat on this for a month because I was planning to submit it to a journal callout for ‘immigrant poems’ — it speaks to my experience as an expat/person out of place/away from home. But then I got busy and missed the deadline, oops. 

Photo: Idella Maeland on Unsplash

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cars & guitars

try to pin thoughts

like pressing guitar strings into

my heart – tender meat – but

I never learnt that instrument

apart from listening

my fingers, so clumsy

I can’t. No. I can’t

understand anymore

where do I start

already halfway gone, and

there’s no place to

pull in

open up my bonnet

tweak the engine, maybe

put a new one in

 

Photo: https://unsplash.com/@felipeluiz27

dreamwindow

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

 

dreamt I fell in love

it was so simple

like a small clear window

didn’t have to search for it

didn’t have to try

 

your clean, sudden lines

eyes smiling in delight

you said

it’s us now, forever

for however long that lasts

I laughed, and said

you know

I used to find you annoying

with your past life, past wives…

 

our movie showed a map

we travelled across Tanzania

on the coca-cola croc train

stopping here and there

to refill our canteen

 

dreamt I fell in love

it was so simple

looked down and it was there

like a small clear window

certainty at last

a strip of perfect light

 

dreamt I fell in love

oh, come back night

 

I played around with trying to turn this into a sonnet but it didn’t work so well. Maybe it’s a ‘deconstructed sonnet’.

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

Added to dVerse open link night 

Disobedient

 

Sid Vicious “I did it My Way” RIP Sid & Nancy Spungen, you disobedient delinquents. Photo: https://sonicmoremusic.files.wordpress.com/2014/04/swindle.jpg

 

I wrote every day

every day

then started to disobey

my plans and programmes

I guess

life

got in the way

distracted in the fray

of various this and thats until

well…

sometimes you need to rebel

I make the rules, I break the rules, no one tells me what to do

I always say

and no one fucking publishes rhyming poems either

I may

have discovered too late

but here we are today

you like it, hey?

keep on

disobeying

 

Written obediently in response to the WordPress daily prompt: Disobey

Empty Words

all the words have been used

I’m just making biscuit-ends

from scraps of pastry

language left behind

don’t want to waste it

can’t say or write

anything new so I

bake it lukewarm and then

gorge on

empty calories

and press up the crumbs

on wet fintertips as

thick clouds of ideas

stifle my mind but

when

they drift

from my mouth

they’re the thin smoke

of banned cigarettes

Freedom

Photo by Michael (Mikey) on Unsplash

Duterte, Trump, May, Putin…

feels like the bullies

are winning the day

they put out

dirty plays

get away with it all

the rhetoric says

counter hate with love

but I’m not sure it’s working,

guys?

the best advice: just believe in yourself!

but aren’t these leaders

the epitome of that?

if the meek shall inherit the earth

when will that be

I’m busy Tuesday… but otherwise

I’m free?

Intergenerational warfare

Photo by Henry Hustava on Unsplash

 

so I was thinking about

how the Millennials, Xennials, Xers

and whoever comes nexters

were fighting with the Boomers

or is that just in Australia

and I wondered if

it was a media beat-up

a political stunt

to distract

from the real issues of inequality

and then I thought

or

is it as old as time

for the younger gen

to fight

against the ancient ones

wanting to usurp and change?

Xennial warrior princess

 

the way we circled them

we

empowered women of the 90s

not spice girls, not riot grrls, just us

yet to realise our mistakes

our eyes

greedy for a piece

our price

success

were they ever afraid

did they even notice?

seducing

our prey

as we slipped through the net

of history

fishnet-clad wrists

slicing away

traces kicked over

bottles smashed

tracing an ankh – life!

into teenage behinds

in black

we didn’t know to be afraid

relieved or excited

only much later

thought of the danger

nothing bad happened

we got away

with…

(shhh)

 

Apparently we’re called Xennials now – us people born between 1977 and 1983. Seems to fit with the generation who would have watched a certain TV show about a feisty fighting princess …  Another friend called us the ‘last tactile generation’ – I kinda liked that.  

do you remember

Photo by Bruno Nascimento on Unsplash

 

Do you remember

do you remember

the minutiae of a world

in the cracks of a bluestone wall

where sparkling bits of gravel

and sand and tiny rocks

would nestle and we’d

trickle them through

our fingers carefully

arranging them in little piles

do you remember

the hollows in the ground behind

curves of tree roots and

small sticks and sandy soil,

leaves and pollen from

fallen flowers, the smell

of school recess

do you remember

our shared and sacred world

created together

our act of mutual dreaming

utter absorption of children

together in something

no one else would understand

but us two

do you remember

how we looked so closely

and loved

mundane sections of ground

or a cut down log,

the whorls in a tree and

scrubby clearings near

stiff iron-squared fences

a place where we conjured

our own folklore of

kids with dusty feet or

puddles when it rained and

slicked down gum leaves

fascinating, secret

but not hidden because

only our eyes could see

what we invented there

do you remember

do you remember?

Out of Rage – spoken word

 

When I think about it

I don’t want to think too long

or feel too hard

keep moving on

 

Snap judgements

First impressions

Status updates and

click bait

passive aggression

hold it in

keep moving on

outrage is a content-commodity to them

 

Wow – it’s been ages since I’ve had the mental / time bandwidth to record a poem. Hope you enjoy it.

Soundcloud link: https://soundcloud.com/user-808707280/out-of-rage2