(untitled) #12

in the sun watching

the sky – lying on my back

the world rotates

(untitled) #11

In The Shadows

I shall be here – in the shadows,

upon a dune-crest riding high,

playing my whistle, softly, sadly:

oh – let the tide come flooding nigh.

Fishes Like Poems

Poems like fishes all come swimming past –

so many, innumerable, all going so fast:

I’d like to try catch-one but shoaling they fin

into a whirling ball, silver, all wild in a spin!

In a blur they wheel past me and gone in a flash –

in the silent, still water – not even a splash,

but in the comforting clarity, enveloping fold,

of the crystal clear water its not even cold.

So floating I drift with the tides and the lace

of intricate seaweeds, across oceans I chase:

below fantastical chandeliers, by the sun lit –

the tentacled colonies of jelly fish – I flit.

In the depths a rare shadow: of hope a faint glimmer

in the distance before me – spy a brilliant shimmer!

One day shall I catch one, one day to be sure

will I land my fine catch upon a far golden shore.

Dune Grass

Oh the Marram Grass so firm before

the violent waves that raise-crash ashore

and carve in the sand a delicate rose

of the coming of the wind – and how it goes

and scratches just like a seismograph

a record of just how the wind gusts laugh

and leap between blades shimmering

and play, reverberating, glimmering.

Oh what a charge to nurture flowers gay

and spread in the sun day after day

and night after night below the milky stars

send pale racimes out-reaching far

towards the sea that ashore angry foams

and the rising sun’s warming golden gloam.

Transfixed

The wood-pigeon’s call comes booming in

through every wall of the room I’m in

the bricks dissolve – there’s an open sky

that lets in all of its basal cry

There is no driveway, there is no street

instead stand pines so tall and sweet:

their resinous odour fills my nose

and golden sand lies beneath my toes

my skin even feels the warming sun

in my ears, cries of laughter, oh so fun.

Ten thousand pines stand all around

on dunes that rise up from the ground

and in high branches play squirrels, red

but now of feet have I none, only roots instead

and my arms extended up toward the rays

are fixed now, each of my fingers splayed

and branches and green needles have come

where once golden hairs from my arms were sprung.

Here, then, where I once stood by the forest transfixed

will I now stand forever, in-amongst, betwixt

the ocean’s  raging waves and the hinterland

will I be forever a Pine tree – how grand!