Jasmine

Piles of jasmine cover a fence.

As I walk by, the scent takes me

far south, into the past

when my children were children

and our fence was piled with jasmine.

The Crows Are Out

The crows are out on the road tonight
in the breaks between the wild, rainy weather:
moving separately, moving together
glossy black against the greying light.

Tidal River

Today we've timed it perfectly. The edge

is deep enough to swim. The strong current

is out there in the middle, rippling fast,

a flashing silver ribbon – no, a fish.

A fish of glass that's rolling porpoise-like,

heading, nose down, for the entrance to the sea.

Driving in Warm Weather

Driving in warm weather —

the warmth of Spring arriving

today and settling in —

I’m confident and fast

around the river bends

and up the curly hills.

(Written a year and six days ago.)

Two Fat Men

Two fat men strut from the pub

clutching their bags of bottles

and head for separate cars.

Concealed by darkness,

I stare at their stiffly held bellies

which curve like waxing moons.

Written 2/10/07, rediscovered today.

Listen to the River

Listen to the river,

it whispers loudly

this evening as dusk

comes down, black clouds

sitting low on the trees.

It gulps and laps the shore

as the wind springs into gusts

and over the opposite bank

unseen, but far from unheard

the ocean pounds and wallows.

Yet another oldie, this from 2008. I didn’t understand what some of these were when I wrote them; they seemed to be inconclusive fragments. Now I recognise them as small stones, observations made in the moment, complete in themselves.

The Creek, Pottsville

December 2006

I play in the rippling river,

kicking against the current

and letting it float me back,

then rest on a hummock of sand

under the shallow surface.

The pelicans have departed

to the trees on the further bank.

Beyond, I hear the roar

of the surging ocean.

One suddenly flies right over me

feet tucked up, its wide wings

surprising me, half black.

 (Another oldie I've been tinkering with.)

In This Overlap Zone

In this overlap zone

between tropic and temperate

periwinkles bloom beside hibiscus,

clover grows in the grass

under the frangipani.

Market Moments

Pottsville Beach Sunday Market 6 Sept.’ 09

The market ground
drying out under surface dew
resists my tent pegs.

Bouncing and laughing
in their mothers’ arms,
two babies hold my gaze.

The skirt seller
suddenly, casually,
tells me her whole life story.

I bring home
two bottles of red
captive, held by the necks.


Going through old poems, I came across these jottings which, though not recent, seem to belong among the small stones. (The previous post is also a rescued and reworked fragment of an older draft.)

Remembering Pottsville Beach

Sharp mornings promising heat.
Thunderous across balmy air
the constant, repetitive boom of waves.

I Watch His Sleeping face

Although my love is old
I look at him and see,
dreaming unguarded,
a sweetly serious child
in a private moment.

Driving

Driving, I notice
I am singing old songs,
very old, that my father sang:

Day-zee, Day-zee
I-rene Goodnight
Meet / Me In / St Louis, Louis ...

My father loved cars and driving.
I notice I’m bringing him back
to sit with me as I drive,
and sing with me.

My Two Cats

my two cats
curl like commas
in opposite directions
head butting head
fast asleep
after frisking like kittens
an hour ago

Night Falls Down

Night falls down on the street,
a line of light edging the hills
the palest tinge of pink.
I close the blinds reluctantly
to keep out not the dark but the cold.