"updraught" poems
We welcome the girl,
alone it would seem,
like a seed in the updraught,
whole worlds lie beneath.
Here is the girl,
A mind pregnant with dreams,
as she crosses the bridges,
connecting the streams.
There lands a girl,
ghouls taunt, ghouls tease,
"let go of this love, girl,
be rid of these dreams."
Come see the girl,
speaking tounges through machines,
white draped over candy,
embracing the terminal dream.
Heres lies the girl,
most wouldn't believe,
the ghouls taunts a mere whisper now,
dream easy, love freely... my sweet.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 6:11 AM UTC
time kaliedescopes
yesterdays, nows and
tommorows jumble
in glittering jewels
hopes from earlier
become wistful dreams
hopes for later, mists
to be gathered in butterfly nets
dreams of now circle like
koi in a pond,
hypnotic in their gliding
silent world
we stand on the precipice
waiting for echoes to return
waiting for an updraught
of heady confidence
to give us impetous
to allow us spread
our gossamer wings
we wait for the sun
to warm us, to bring the rush
of blood to our heads
so that we may jump
and soar in the yonder
so that our feet may feel
the caress of impossibilty
and clouds can tickle our soles
we wait...
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
I wrote her lyrics on the back
of a postcard. Half of them were
mine, the other half stolen from
an undisclosed source by the sea.
I meant to finish the piece with
hope or a splintered olive branch,
but instead I changed hands
and wrote illegibly:
*I expect to hear from you
next time you are bored
or alone.*
It has been four years now
and I haven't heard that song on
the radio. It has been four years
and the letterbox remains closed
like the reluctant mouth of a
four-year-old in a dentist's chair.
I haven't seen the doctor for a long time
and often I know that I am dying.
I close my eyes and slow my breath:
*there are stellar clouds and old
Arcturus is falling from the sky.*
The farmer's truck is offloading pigeons,
descending the cages as they fight
for the freedom of an updraught.
I watch it behind a television screen
and I see acceptable nature through
my parent's back window. I have learned
to experience everything behind
a screen door, to keep out mosquitoes
and compassion for far-off deaths:
*Twenty-four dead in dust cloud,
as freedom spreads to the East.*
I wrote her a letter the day before
my wedding and told her the whole
affair was simply to get a mortgage
and to have a reason to shave.
I knew she would likely have moved
address, or else threw out my envelopes
along with pizza leaflets and
charity bags. I wrote clearly with
my better hand:
*I have found a place to rest my wings,
but they still cramp at the thought
of a cloud.*
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 8:57 AM UTC
Ingrid's old man
was dead
his throat cut
in some drunken brawl
and left out
in the street
to bleed to death
I took Ingrid to Jail Park
to get her out of the flat
and give her mother room
to breath and get
organizing things
about a funeral
and answer
police questions
at the station
we crossed Bath Terrace
side by side
kids on bikes or scooters
rode by
a woman pegged washing
on a line on a high balcony
guess you'll miss him
I said
Ingrid looked ahead
yes I will I guess
she said
miss him not
beating you
and your mum
I said
he didn't always
do that
she said
he was till my dad
and he loved me
we entered the park
and walked along
the paths between
flowered gardens
funny way of showing it
I said
she looked at me
still my dad
she muttered
your brother and sister
left because of him
will they come back now?
I expect so
she said
for the funeral
and see how Mum is
and help with things
we entered the play area
and made for the swings
we got on a couple of swings
and began to push off
with our feet
who cut his throat?
I asked
don't know
she said
the police didn't know
we swung high
I noticed the sky
was a bright blue
white clouds
like woolly sheep
will you stay
around here?
I said
guess we will
she said
miss you if you left
I said
will you?
she said
sure I would
I said
I swung as high
as I could
my feet seeming
to touch clouds
maybe we can
marry one day
she said
we're only 10 years old
I said
plenty of time for that
she was swinging higher
than me now
her drab green dress
flapping in the updraught
guess so
she said
her voice carried off
in the air
her dress blew
up and out
but I didn't stare.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 2:34 AM UTC
The wish of a painter or poet is to transport
spirit's emotion
by stopping in awe at night's
vaulted scene
and viewing grassland as more than green.
An alchemist with no interest in gold
takes up better investment,
finds a thermal to soar on fancy or some
updraught for imagination
to make jasper of sea, jade of dawn
and perceive jewels hiding in shape or form.
A seer catches the farside's face
and traces that world in sentence or paint,
chimeric in nature an artist
whose eye encounters rock gives it heart,
transforms by description the seen
as mundane to have mystic meaning,
adds soft to feather, colour to blur
and improves initial by depicting further.
It is said that fine art opens doors
to show extraordinary as but quite normal
for good poet or painter
ranks magic as foremost importance when
met with blank canvas
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 5:28 PM UTC