Poetry
In Print
Cocooned Under Doona
We are held in apartment’s arm nestled
in bed like cygnets in wings.
You trail your finger down my leg,
blow warmth to neck’s nape,
roll tongue over skin like melted ice.
Right now,
a crowd gathers on Manhattan Street,
tradings take place on South China sea,
teens travel highways, hands sketching breeze.
But here we are: cocooned under doona,
our isolated pocket of globe.
Outside the weather chucks a tantrum
but under doona all is still—
still like water under waves.
The sheets smell of sweat and Seabreeze
and I think
there’s no foreign place I’d rather be.
There Goes Time
Time trickles through tea
Tips through spouts
Try to grasp it
Slips no doubt
Falls through finger-tips
Scorches flesh
Flings you down
Enfolds in mesh
Tick Tock
There Time goes
Whips his cane
Commands tight rows
Bow your head
The clock has struck Nine to five
Half your luck
They say Time stands still I haven’t seen such a sight
Time stops for no-one
Without putting up a fight
Do Not Cry
Take a leash.
Tie up your tears.
They fall, you drown.
That’s it my love, paint smiles on faces.
Red lines point upwards in places.
Too symmetrical?
They tell not, you rot from inside out.
Why despair for there are magic pills to munch
To turn skin waxy red.
Hush.
Do not cry I told you so.
You will drown and create deep seas
For people to navigate.
Gumtree Pole
The gumtrees are waves,
smooth cool tubular trunks spill
into frothy leaf.
Yet, we’re far from the sea
and there’s not many gumtrees,
few and far in between.
The mountains I see aren’t green
but rhino exoskeletons of cement piercing
foggy fumed lungs of sky.
Clouds choke and spit out tears.
I think of gumtree forests and waves,
starry nights lit by campfire glow,
skin tingling like peppermints under
fresh cloudless skies.
Crumpf of leaf under foot,
bare skin connecting with bare ochre dirt
I am a speck of dirt:
heart as vast and red as land
The train scuttles like centipede,
buzzing its blur of electricity
and overhead a magpie makes
its nest on a telegraph pole.