2325
7.132
13.v.26
mangrove
moment
Gore
Cove Track Series
hear the creek come
it’s somewhere between the hands of a clock
unscripted bridge
engine of a dog and splash
shallows and rill
a run over stone to smooth
place where the sun’s to mottle
the feather in a tree
harbour’s half here too
lean in
there’s all this reaching
roots as far in the mud as see up
footsteps that came our way now gone
blue of a day above
2324
7.131
12.v.26
inside
out
ekphrastic
for Frank Hinder’s 1948 ‘Tram Kaleidoscope’
we
are heads merely
pointed
by wheel
are
in windows
to
look down
who
will see the colours?
as
from earth come
cut,
the day to pieces
a
precious little sun
we
are turned to the street
birght
lit, sharp, rounded
is
it afternoon, this light?
are
we nearly home?
we
are faceless
so
unseen
lip
under hat
and
hold on
2323
7.130
11.v.26
what’s
on the other side of a word?
this whisper
grip of grief
full throat
the giving and away
smudge smear
mind scribble
guess at the way
often there’s firstliness
a word’s worn
it was a rope
and had to haul
no other way over yet
I call it a way of life
2322
7.129
10.v.26
night
night
of bright stars
and
tall winds
of
the fallen leaf
and
its fellows
tree
stood still
ebriable
night
of
a long loud snore
night
of the cows
respecting
a fence
night
of the wallaby where
of
clouds unseen
none
fly this night
night
of the half dream
night
lost to the one big idea
night
of the ancestors
gathered
about
here
just to guess
who
I am
chill
will
words have led the way?
turn
one over
and
what do you see?
there’s
no piano prepared for this
my
floruit just here
2321
7.128
9.v.26
travels of a
moon
shone through,
still shining
and all the day
admired
of and with and
up besides
there are none
so blue as
meaning skies
I see you on my
rounds
yours inching
larger, further
all dings and
dust
sun for a
breeze
there were
times you were taken for cloud
chip off the
old Earth block
and shot
through like the tortoise
way ahead of the
game
some have tried
a slingshot
others kicked
the dust
one struggles
to imagine a rope
yet you
inscribe
we all do
skyhook,
spacelift, call it what
I know you’re
hot
I know you
freeze
concerningly
pale
thrown bone
bunny too
old cheese
I say these
things in the sure knowledge
there’s no use
talking to you
though distance
is nothing
know that in
the great scheme
we are the least
of things
2320
7.127
8.v.26
FROM THE
WINDOW OF A SUBMERSIBLE
poem for
David Attenborough’s 100th birthday
his voice is
nature
it’s
where you can’t, you’d never go
some
say red in tooth and claw
and
that’s rich coming from
from
a hide or on the trail
all
this unwitting
or
so seems
and
we come to understand
wonder
how far we will get
an
intimate bubble world is
and
everywhere a question
what
sound does a platypus make?
how
did these molecules get together?
what
else is still down there?
there
isn’t the time to wait for an answer
he’s
off to catch a dragon
colour
is communication
as
any old sun shows
everywhere
wonders
the
story to tell
listens,
asks, observes
some
trees are still here down to him
they’ve
released him in the wild
of
course it’s only we can see
he rescues the world from us
