| Poetry ~ Page One |
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| FLYING She stands as still as a beacon on top of the blasted headland her eyes stare straight at the sea - she has lost every idea of who she is or why she is here; her mind has been magiked away. Only the wind, a gull and her soul and they swoop, then lift and barrel-roll around her |
| GIFTS FROM THE SEA The remainder of the island, though its notable for its stark beauty is also blatent in stating the obvious; of how only the massed indigenous trees can thrive in the salt-swept winds and the thin yellow clay - both wind and soil inhospitable for farming or cropping. And you may wonder how much an Islander can pull from the seas which roll and push along the edge of tumbled rock and brief stony swards with their scatter of wharves reminiscent of a flotsam of party straws pointing to apparently empty dwellings tacked here and there along the shoreline. But this is an island of fairytales, as all islands are. Tucked behind fences or in hidden corners are tubs and pots of container gardens: and underneath the ground, a wire sneaks and twists from house to cottage and on, from bay to bay to finally climb under the sea to join with the Mainland miles away it's the phoneline conecting to everywhere all at once, the fax machine, and the world wide web and across it flies the credit card numbers with an order for a book, lengths of timber, bags of compost or a box of groceries and just like magic appearing out of the sea ther'e's a ferry at the botom of the garden bestowing gifts, and for a few minutes a wharf will fill with people loading backpacks or trollies - then it's empty again. Only a farm-bike's receeding echo under the canopy of trees and the wash from the departing ferry ribbing the water. |
SUMMERS BY THE SEA Did you too climb over the fence and bend to walk under the Banana palms their heavy red flowers more black than red with a perfume too solid to breathe and not stop, but walk on because it is summer and further on the Mountain Papayas are ripe - their bright yellow globes waiting scented with lemon and the Pacific Islands - honeytang and exotica wrapped in sun you did, I know you did I can tell by your smile! |
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| AN END OF THE DAY POEM FOR YOU I'm thinking of gathering up some light words, bright words, a joyful mound of froth, then I'll add in a swirl of cream - I'll pat them, praise them, slide them up to a toppling peak for I want to dress up in a party dress those tired words, those slightly bland ho-hum, so yesterday words that shout out from the morning newsprint, the mailbox, the afternoon office desk, and out of the endless hyperboles strung along the storefronts that always follow you home. I'll add some warm words, soft words, some old-fashioned nice words then line them all up into a poem to dispel the dark we carried in. |
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| poems from: words over the water |