(i) on the ridges trees in death black arms still flexed for holding up the sky but it falls strung between them whitely broken such soft caressing of their limbs now rain comes the marching of time slick silver arrows (ii) we walk in a valley torn flat trees prostrated by flood the tinny upper … Continue reading Two Years After the Fires
you never appreciated the way I framed your world fishbowl blue and swimming with clouds you never saw it from up here, an exquisite bauble tied to nothing except my one primitive eye. slowly, turn by turn this season of regret I watch fish meal clogging up the rainbows and your busy pumps keep drowning … Continue reading a letter from the sun
This wasn’t technically written on November 26th but I’m reposting it from November in 2019 as part of Fandango’s Friday Flashback.
In The Power of Imagination, I compared Eichmann to a cog in a clock, unaware of the bigger picture. This morning, when I re-read it, I thought about how it is not the clock that makes time pass. A clock is just a measuring device, like a tape measure or an odometer. All these human concepts. The birds have no clocks and yet they know when to do what. The nest-building, the partner-finding, the egg-hatching, the migrating. It all happens. All around them are clocks, I guess. Leaves falling, buds growing, sun-rises, rain falls, tides, moon phases.
Humans have our clocks and yet we seem to know so little. We know when we need to be at school or at work or how long it is since we ate. But we don’t know when or how to find the right partner, we don’t know how to prioritise raising kids…
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the sun our fair weather friend agreed to an “in-spirit” contract whereby like bottled lemonade his fizz may be captured, flat-packed on roof-tops and then sipped straw-like through wires but some of us prefer, hands in pockets hunting for the gravy of burnt dinosaurs Written for dVerse - Linda's Quadrille prompt "Fair"
look to the grey sky the absence of corners that’s where we are humbled - in that arc, there’s no resting place no flat-footed motel - insipid tiles to drop our tears on with our faces upturned we must listen now and acknowledge fundamentally the persecution of raindrops Written for Miz Quickly QnV 10 Use … Continue reading the absence of corners
What if exhaust fumes were purple... City buildings bathed in amethyst, and windows tinted to wisteria. Lunching on plum benches in a bruised park, sunflowers nodding magenta. Would washing machines whirl out the debonaire sweat of Unicorns and surfers watch storm water run into a periwinkle sea? Perhaps then, we might look up and notice … Continue reading What if…
1) I have tried hairlessness the way it takes from my profile those silver edges. Mammalian softness. 2) The bannered dog sells beauty like shampoo his coat in glorious shuffle Galahs in fearful flight. 3) I walk in the race of cloud shadows wind like falling card houses. Frantic ant highways. I watch my feet. … Continue reading Chorus
(Pink Floyd - "Wish You Were Here") oil - sinewed rainbows rafted up to swirl and giggle riding high on the nausea of a fatty sea your blood’s dark swig sucked and spat your prehistoric core birds in Brylcreme slicked sick I hear them weeping yet I sleep on bubbled in glass so far away … Continue reading Two Lost Souls Swimming in a Fish Bowl
The sun sits in leaky splendour; watermelon juice staining this upholstery this smog brown décor this Faberge sunset this velveteen smoke haze. A cloying choice but here we all sit in our plush living room our shrine of consecrated ignorance and listen to the clock and the crackle roar of our future. Written for Misky's … Continue reading The Place We Live
When a million stars take leave from night duty and arrange themselves on Earth's blackened boughs then you know that tree cries are heard all across this universe we perceive as barren. But tomorrow, when we stand dressed in smoke, completely lost in its ebb and rolling, our asphyxiated wails will vanish quick as bio-luminescence … Continue reading Who Hears the Crying?
Out of the Cave 