daytime rhythms
of coming and
going
a-swish
a-yawn
a-slam
a-trudge
out the door
in the car
to the place
there
twiddled thumbs
swivelled chairs
barked-up trees
and morning teas
and banter
hands
on knees
and eyes to
clock
and this meeting
here
and that duty
there
tick tock
a-flow through
time and space
and light
as the
sun turns over
in its sky
and rests its
head down on
the other side
then
out the door
in the car
to the place
for something quick
to have for dinner
then
home
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 2:02 PM UTC
love
aghast
at its own
separation
curds from
whey
drifting
up into
unshapely
neglected
kernels
drifting up to
a wide distance
in their broth
of once-
togetherness
weeping
energy
like a
milky
wound
expectations
of gushing
romance
seep out
and down
sunk to the
bottom
to never
feel
alone
to never
feel
lost
to never
feel
grown
or
responsible
for it all
sunk right down
to the
bottom
buoyancy
independent
rising up
I take care
of my
self
alone
purposeless
drifter
bulbous
love nugget
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC
I would rather
be a
wanderer
a belongerer
to no body
to no country
a loose end
than to bob
eagerly
at every tug
of the yarn's
end
whose
wound-up
mass
amasses me
a wriggled up
ball of
wriggles
I would rather
be alone
than
scooped up
in a basket
with others
of my
supposed
ilk
and held in
by the
over-under
wicker
edges
domed up
for containment
ominous
clicks and
scrapes
of my
destiny
clattering
and chattering
above
fraying
frizzled
frazzled bits
smoothing out
as my length
is tugged
up and up
like a long
slurpy
noodle
I would rather
be loose
and scrappy
and stumpy
and ragged
the one that
nobody loves
the discarded
refuse of a
more discerning
eye
than be made
surreptitiously
into somebody
else's
jumper
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 8:21 AM UTC
I took two totems
and held them to
myself
one in my right pocket
and one in my left
for clenching
tight in reminder
while walking about
of what's really
important
a brass bull
keychain strung
to the keys
that opened my home
and made it mine
for prosperity
and material health
and weighing down
to the ground
and a little hunk
of lapis lazuli
speckled through
with golden
glitters
for keeping
bright blue and
buoyant
my spirit
the bull broke off
its chain and
left a dangling void
a superfluous
jangle
wiggling on old
keys turned in
to an old landlord
the stone
slipped out of my
jacket pocket
in a cab to the
airport to a plane
to the other side
of the world
now of my totems
but a short refrain
and a
memory's glitter
remain
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 8:06 AM UTC
a polkadotted
napkin
full of problems
tied to a stick
slung across
my shoulder
strutting
stubbornly
from one place
to another
never questioning
why I bother
meandering
all over
a runaway
to sunny beaches
gloomy cities
far off reaches
of far earth
with stars poured
in my eyes
and hard-earned
pennies in
my purse
hoping that
this time will
be different
it couldn't
be worse
?
©2018 Adelaide Heathfield
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 8:36 AM UTC
sweet tree
raised from
tropical
earth
to grow upright
and out
to sprout
from trunk
a bunch of
pink and
pointed pods
or perhaps
crimson or
yellow
aubergine
tangerine
green
scythed clean
from host
and hacked
in two
for getting at
seeds a-pulp
in white
and slimed
and spreading
them out under
the sun
to get hot
in their own
juices
to ferment
wild
to bake
dry
poured tinkling
by the
thousands into
sacks of hessian
for sending
‘cross seas
to furnace-cracked
futures
winnied and
conched
sweetened
melted
and hardened
into shapes
of other things
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 8:23 AM UTC
father-watching
faraway
triggered sweet by
memory plucked
from twinge of
heart at
husband whiskers
sprinkled in
the sink
father
slow transforming
out of sight
whisker white
a-creep through
long-time
beard of boyish
blondish-brown
sprouting
scraggled out from
ear and nose
and knuckle
round
eyes a-cave
and sunken deep
in shaded-over
cavities
for inward looking
more than
out
with no more
footballs
flung
about
and no more
children yanking
on the waking hours'
daggy trousers
for weeping
over old-time
music secret
in the dark
up with the
birds
down with
the sun
midlife
rush at last
a-hush and
calm in its
surrender
done
bones exposed
of parenthood
held frail a-clung
by gristle grey of
simple habits
coffee thick
and silky
run with
milk
and crispest
crusty bread
torn up
for dipping into
hearty stock
with olives
cheese and
ham on top
a drop
of something
oaky sipped
and languished
a-crawl with
thoughts of
father own
disintegrating
boyhood memories
coddled close
and satiating
with daughter
unbeknownst
father-watching
faraway
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 7:53 AM UTC
sometimes
you just need to
run into the
wild and
look at the
starshine and
look at the
moonbeams
and forget
who you are
for a while
forget where
you came from
and where you're
trying to go
forget who is
waiting for you
and what they said
and what they
might say
to melt back
into black
and pulse shiny
and magical
to be
simply a
body under
the sky
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC
blankets laid
like pastry
twirled and
crinkled
made to nestle
precious
heads
in bed of
curled and
covered comfort
buttered
wrapped up
little packages
alive and
breathing
heaving breaths
of depths
unknown to
waking worlds
through softened
lungs and throats
and mouths
and gooey
molten middles
with shield of
fragile sleep
held up
to barricade in
and barricade out
as steam floats
gentle warm
and wistful
blissful up
from tender
scalps
from dreams
in gold and
chocolate
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 9:11 AM UTC
let the race
go on and
be won and
be lost
inevitable
fast
without me
I will be
playing
on the side
of the road
with the daisies
and the crickets
and the wild-growing
fennel
a fleeting whoosh
to the rushing
passerby
and they a whoosh
to me
as clouds
hang humid
and yearn to
speckle their
summer mist
a-top puffs of
breeze and
rosy cheeks
and
saplings
I will be
spending my
sunshine day
with face
upturned and
hair a-mess
and
eyes not
looking where
they're going
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 1:13 PM UTC