poems

The colour of light

Lightning breaks in the night sky

the white light alien to the yellow light of the sun

That lightning exists in other parts of the universe

makes me think of the unbelievable existence of life on this world.

She was perfect for him

and they showed it on instagram

and then she left him.

The speed with which she changed her facebook status from in a relationship

to single

hurt him more than he thought it could.

He went to work, he told himself it would be a new start

but it was empty for a while

then he sat out and watched the lightning and the night sky light up

and it reminded him that lightning occurs all across this world.

It was a train ticket out of his home town and the start of something new.

Coming Home

Broken at 9 pm, glass shards on the road crunch underfoot. 

I worked late, walking home.

Seeing the streets with new eyes;

Single mother sitting on the front door step with baby

A man delivers brochures to houses

Another brings out the bin. 

A man walks a white dog, a cat leaps a fence and turns on a sensor light.

Someone backs a truck onto their front lawn

And a yellow moon rises above the houses.

A terrible valley filled with houses

A helicopter lands at the airport

The hospital’s yellow lights and strange smell.

My feet feel tired 

I wish I lived in a beach village.

Work again tomorrow, looking forward to retirement and death. 

No ghosts

She used to play the piano in the lounge room

Until her hands hurt too much, and she could no longer move her fingers across the keys.

Then, she spent her time by the large bay windows, letting the breeze cool her of an evening. 

She only had a few months of that, then she died.

One morning I came to her room and knocked. 

She was dead in her bed. 

We buried her; I played some piano music from an expensive speaker.

What could I do with the piano?
There was nothing to do so I left it in the lounge room. 

I sat in front of the bay window and let the breeze drift across me.

The house is empty and silent without her

I imagine her ghost in the room

But what frightens me most of all

Is that there are no ghosts.

Kokoro

The piano teacher set out the rules of attraction

Mine were of trouble.

“Kokoro,” I called out.

The slim, attractive woman appeared. She was a child of God. That is what she called herself.

“Tell me of your dream,” I asked.

The cat’s cradle, she said, I dreamed it was under fire.

There was a death

Even while we followed the rules for life.

Resurrection.

At swim, all my friends felt pleasure and sorrow.

The correction, Charlie travels here today.

A war crime.

I held up my hand

“You watch too much of the news before bed,” I said.

Smiling, she patted at her dress and turned to leave.

“Stay,” I asked. “It is early. We can watch the sunrise from the balcony.”
The city was yellow with lights, the last of the night sat uneasily

With the sun on the horizon.  

aged

The steps to the house are loose

Broken

The door does not lock

The windows allow rain in

There is mold and the smell of rot.

The old man

Fleeing the old people’s home

Makes his way here and stumbles in the front door.

When he was a young man

The road here was manageable

Now it is clogged with cars

They are knocking his house down soon

But one more night in his own room

Before they find him in the morning.

Night air

I don’t know if I’ve got it in me tonight

The same streets and shops

The same faces

The sunny day, the rainy day

The health and sickness.

I stand by the supermarket and watch the rain fall off the roof and puddle in the car park

I wonder where to from here.

The night comes

The street lights

It’s still raining.

The saddest I’ve been is standing outside a mattress and bed shop

At 2 am

Looking at the beds on display.

A snapshot of Blenchow Bay

The stone house

Painted white inside

With white windows

Had five rooms

Two bedrooms, 

Dining room

Library 

Sitting room.

The kitchen and bathroom were separate rooms behind the house.

The front windows had a view over the bay.

The yard that stretched for twelve acres wide,

Ended in a path that cut down to the water and sandy beach. 

In that house, Ingrid had raised four children

Loved a husband and lost him

Seen her eighteen birthday

And now, on a rain-soaked, grey October day, saw her 80th.

She began the day at five, watching the rain drops run down her Smokey-glassed windows

Watching the fishing boats in the harbour

With their lights disappearing out of the bay.

She had already set the fire in the kitchen and in the sitting room

Now she had bread baking, clothes drying and the net that she was mending 

Set up across the timber grid. 

It was a cold, quiet day; the sound of the rain on the roof kept her company

She rubbed her hands together and felt how dry they were, like autumn leaves

She did not need to go into town today and looked forward to resting in the afternoon. 

Salamanca Bay

Eyeing the water

Sitting on timber boards

Drinking in the dark

We watched the boats in the bay

I wondered how the people get to the boats from the shore.

We sat there until late in the night

Moonlight played on the white boats

One name stood out, Penelope.

An old man sat on the bow

Scrubbing the side of the boat with a brush.

Later, I walked home beside the blue-white quay

And saw the little rowboats that must have been the answer.

I turned from the harbour and wandered up into the city

Passing the 19th-century sandstone buildings

The night was full of ghosts.