mark-mcintosh - Hello Poetry

Into the abyss I threw green blood sweat dripping raindrops other nightshades calling dreams from improbable plots I never read The black gets darker before dawn stars fade, the moon dips below the earth’s curve from my obtuse window grey shapes move into focus today the sky refuses to allow obvious sun The sinkhole gets bigger from a certain angle swallowing objects and plans it’s always ravenous stealing leftovers from my plate emptying the dishwashing liquid plates piling in the kitchen Morning stretches into afternoon Whirring of a neighbour’s mower taming shoots beheading the weeds that started to flower after the last time the manual fell into the depths That night I remember a day gone by when the veil fluttered away from my face clouds parted and a cylinder of rays illuminated the abyss to show how shallow it really was

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Feb 10, 2021

Feb 10, 2021 at 6:00 PM UTC

The Abyss

Into the abyss I threw green blood sweat dripping raindrops other nightshades calling dreams from improbable plots I never read The black gets darker before dawn stars fade, the moon dips below the earth’s curve from my obtuse window grey shapes move into focus today the sky refuses to allow obvious sun The sinkhole gets bigger from a certain angle swallowing objects and plans it’s always ravenous stealing leftovers from my plate emptying the dishwashing liquid plates piling in the kitchen Morning stretches into afternoon Whirring of a neighbour’s mower taming shoots beheading the weeds that started to flower after the last time the manual fell into the depths That night I remember a day gone by when the veil fluttered away from my face clouds parted and a cylinder of rays illuminated the abyss to show how shallow it really was

30

she's there in the full moon & the beat of the rhythm she's there in the way the music works like she played those notes she's there in the lyrics & how the words rhyme she's there around my head with the sounds that make a melody there she is dancing in death & still present a gift you unwrap passing the parcel underneath layers she's there in the core of a package & I miss her & I keep on missing her but she's there in everything I do she tells me what to do and what to say as I play records we liked together then it's time to turn off the radio that she listened to between the pain from the bones & the liver ache they zapped & they radiated until none of that worked but she stayed until that never happened & nurses attended in a room with a view of a sandstone wall where men sold their stuff all those years ago planting seeds that corroded every part of her while she crocheted her way out of some kind of abyss that I can't help but miss then she spoke of smoking with that lady who knew me better than any other woman, on a night in August with the moon full I feel you wandering through my own meanderings that I can't understand you keep asking questions without answers so I type & I rewrite the story of you a woman of substance who makes me shed tears for what might have been but never was then that final breath

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Aug 20, 2016

Aug 20, 2016 at 9:40 AM UTC

The End

she's there in the full moon & the beat of the rhythm she's there in the way the music works like she played those notes she's there in the lyrics & how the words rhyme she's there around my head with the sounds that make a melody there she is dancing in death & still present a gift you unwrap passing the parcel underneath layers she's there in the core of a package & I miss her & I keep on missing her but she's there in everything I do she tells me what to do and what to say as I play records we liked together then it's time to turn off the radio that she listened to between the pain from the bones & the liver ache they zapped & they radiated until none of that worked but she stayed until that never happened & nurses attended in a room with a view of a sandstone wall where men sold their stuff all those years ago planting seeds that corroded every part of her while she crocheted her way out of some kind of abyss that I can't help but miss then she spoke of smoking with that lady who knew me better than any other woman, on a night in August with the moon full I feel you wandering through my own meanderings that I can't understand you keep asking questions without answers so I type & I rewrite the story of you a woman of substance who makes me shed tears for what might have been but never was then that final breath

69

the sad trumpet makes everything of nothing a saxophone riff collects the air draws on changing moods dips & swings & halts & starts changing tempo for effect finding another layer of notes and improvised melodies without beginning, middle or endings many of all drums keep the line threading a piano core conducting with fingers & nods painting in blue

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Aug 9, 2016

Aug 9, 2016 at 6:33 PM UTC

Improvised

the sad trumpet makes everything of nothing a saxophone riff collects the air draws on changing moods dips & swings & halts & starts changing tempo for effect finding another layer of notes and improvised melodies without beginning, middle or endings many of all drums keep the line threading a piano core conducting with fingers & nods painting in blue

14

glow from the back light stretches shadows into dark places a coat threatens there's nothing there but a line that is precise my shoulder disappears into the ink canvas a possum's claws gripping a trunk and in the distance the air thinner a jet echoes across the sky the end of a cigarette another last puff jonquils stand proud their night scent sweetens the breeze the moon is a dependable sliver shining patches away the glow from windows

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Jul 29, 2016

Jul 29, 2016 at 7:46 AM UTC

Shadows

glow from the back light stretches shadows into dark places a coat threatens there's nothing there but a line that is precise my shoulder disappears into the ink canvas a possum's claws gripping a trunk and in the distance the air thinner a jet echoes across the sky the end of a cigarette another last puff jonquils stand proud their night scent sweetens the breeze the moon is a dependable sliver shining patches away the glow from windows

21

dawn turns a bridge orange puffs of grey dot the morning sleep heads turn, birdsong awakens narrow streets of idle cars skyscrapers come into focus after a silhouette horizon of blocks projected with limelight onto an empty stage. later, clouds turned white the tips of buildings glow against blue an early flock dips & swoops morning currents brush a face that catches this ephemeral record the eye of a camera records only memory in the final scene bacon sizzles eggs turn into pillows a coffee aroma guides the cook scraping toast with butter the plates layed out cutlery percussion a page turns towards yesterday's news the neighbour's cough another alarm

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Jul 22, 2016

Jul 22, 2016 at 6:02 PM UTC

Awakenings

dawn turns a bridge orange puffs of grey dot the morning sleep heads turn, birdsong awakens narrow streets of idle cars skyscrapers come into focus after a silhouette horizon of blocks projected with limelight onto an empty stage. later, clouds turned white the tips of buildings glow against blue an early flock dips & swoops morning currents brush a face that catches this ephemeral record the eye of a camera records only memory in the final scene bacon sizzles eggs turn into pillows a coffee aroma guides the cook scraping toast with butter the plates layed out cutlery percussion a page turns towards yesterday's news the neighbour's cough another alarm

27

sun of muted awakenings the city hidden crows squawk the morning rain commuters again an endless snake headlights tailgate red a jet roars with its cargo of weary passengers followed by another boom of metallic wings everything flying this way & that neglecting a puddle wet sock begins to soak a damp shift

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Jul 21, 2016

Jul 21, 2016 at 6:26 AM UTC

Impressionist

sun of muted awakenings the city hidden crows squawk the morning rain commuters again an endless snake headlights tailgate red a jet roars with its cargo of weary passengers followed by another boom of metallic wings everything flying this way & that neglecting a puddle wet sock begins to soak a damp shift

21

a cleansing of raindrops gently falling tinkering delicate rhythms highlight a sunset through grey clouds billowing across a tableau nobody painted these old walls for many years the dust settled occasionally vacuumed saxophone highlights the melody drawn out like the softest flick pictures drawn by notes the lilies are glistening the backyard replenishes newer shoots sprout in spring they shall flower more than last year

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Jul 8, 2016

Jul 8, 2016 at 3:45 AM UTC

Jazzed

a cleansing of raindrops gently falling tinkering delicate rhythms highlight a sunset through grey clouds billowing across a tableau nobody painted these old walls for many years the dust settled occasionally vacuumed saxophone highlights the melody drawn out like the softest flick pictures drawn by notes the lilies are glistening the backyard replenishes newer shoots sprout in spring they shall flower more than last year

20

outside the window, blowing smoke ash falls blind a phone signal never before that graphic lack of conversation when asking to use a chord you said no. worried about sense. that was never my concern. the bill was yours. merry pranksters drove by, hurling invisible paint bombs, superimposed oil slicks on overhead projectors even then nothing was even it was all odd. ticking off drinks your pad averaging numbers. then you wanted to talk again telling you I was leaving as nothing about that was mine. there was no gold in that pan nothing resembling dust just the echo of boots

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Jul 7, 2016

Jul 7, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC

Leaving

outside the window, blowing smoke ash falls blind a phone signal never before that graphic lack of conversation when asking to use a chord you said no. worried about sense. that was never my concern. the bill was yours. merry pranksters drove by, hurling invisible paint bombs, superimposed oil slicks on overhead projectors even then nothing was even it was all odd. ticking off drinks your pad averaging numbers. then you wanted to talk again telling you I was leaving as nothing about that was mine. there was no gold in that pan nothing resembling dust just the echo of boots

21

for a legendary 70s-80s Sydney nightclub wearing those clothes like we did being there back then paying too much for that shirt those shoes pointy & suede buckled not laces 16 in nightclubs being tall an original sister 1959 sequins sunglasses matching there was no light being afraid of the men metamorphosis women used those urinals confusion reigned in a young man we danced the music spoke bartenders poured all sorts of concoctions another track began & a floorshow eyes wide open miming & movements others queued we were hustled inside out come the freaks & early on we got it all on studded sofas on the dancefloor the fresco was roamin we moved feet to the rhythms slaves not knowing how formative those days were never getting anything but drinks until later legal with dollars juiced up better lights victims resting in seats people occupied when a visiting act blew simpler minds wallets we thought that record was good then they played B52s, Blondie, Numan the floor caved in from ska pogo. bouncers cleared the scene original grace as an ape stomps up a staircase disappears into lookalikes then a spotlight highlighted the real thing that was us

0

Jul 7, 2016

Jul 7, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC

Stranded

for a legendary 70s-80s Sydney nightclub wearing those clothes like we did being there back then paying too much for that shirt those shoes pointy & suede buckled not laces 16 in nightclubs being tall an original sister 1959 sequins sunglasses matching there was no light being afraid of the men metamorphosis women used those urinals confusion reigned in a young man we danced the music spoke bartenders poured all sorts of concoctions another track began & a floorshow eyes wide open miming & movements others queued we were hustled inside out come the freaks & early on we got it all on studded sofas on the dancefloor the fresco was roamin we moved feet to the rhythms slaves not knowing how formative those days were never getting anything but drinks until later legal with dollars juiced up better lights victims resting in seats people occupied when a visiting act blew simpler minds wallets we thought that record was good then they played B52s, Blondie, Numan the floor caved in from ska pogo. bouncers cleared the scene original grace as an ape stomps up a staircase disappears into lookalikes then a spotlight highlighted the real thing that was us

79

my own spirit someone I knew someone still close has left she floats around my head my sister lives though cancer stole her from here I went back to our final bar for a last wine she speaks to me sometimes I sit there other times I just look through the stained panes but she never leaves her crochet on my sofa colours surrounded by black if i sit at that bench i can glimpse her hospice through the glass collect those shards

0

Jul 6, 2016

Jul 6, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC

Religion

my own spirit someone I knew someone still close has left she floats around my head my sister lives though cancer stole her from here I went back to our final bar for a last wine she speaks to me sometimes I sit there other times I just look through the stained panes but she never leaves her crochet on my sofa colours surrounded by black if i sit at that bench i can glimpse her hospice through the glass collect those shards

30