Poems

She brings a bag of bundled shades of wool
which overflows beside her corner table
and from it draws a choice of yarn, a range
of needles, lays them out as a surgeon might,
as a thief would, surveying a challenging vault.

The sixth year in the cold hemisphere. Our friends,
on the frothy shores of home, dream we do not age,
but spin through the scrape of years
like an astronaut in her cage. Dense darkness

Who’s that strutting in like a swan, a bull,
An eagle, an ant, a cuckoo, a snake,
Satyr, rain shower, a stallion, a ram,
Six bone-dry dolphins breaking through the foam,

There is no still life except in death.
Everything is quick till dead: fish,

Two months from twenty-nine
as rain slashed into Manning Street. My life,

A day when the rain only let up
           for an hour,
and in this brief, clear time
we saw a pair of yellow-tailed black cockatoos
float through a break in the dripping gums.

But it is the end of the world to River, who’s standing there
thrown by its incomprehensibilities as I play him R.E.M.,
which is otherwise what he needs, total sleep and churning dreams,
not the drums, distortion and irony, he does not feel fine,

These days, evenings are heavy
with clouds that refuse to crack, to open
a window is let in the night
creatures, which flutter and tumble
into the glow of a phone

1.     worlds inside brown eyes
2.     a figure in a bed
3.     stars in summer
4.     women of clay

Suitcase red girl teenager together

New space time moving thataway

Farewell waving family people mindset