If love.

If love is a burden then why do you seek me

If love is a drug then why do you resist me

If our love is deeper then why do you push me away

If our love is gone then why do you search for me






Even Shadows are made of Light

The parts in me you love
are reflected in you.
A gentle calling to everything
fragile and afraid in us
whispering
gentleness is everything.

Tremble away with your cuttle shell
when you think I’ve seen your tender heart.
Your heart is enough
You are complete.
exceptional with your
vulnerable saved up best parts.

Even shadows are made of light
and I cannot hate yours.
They come to me frankly
and I understand a
willingness for all of it in truth

or just the willingness
and have we ever been so naked.

I don’t know how you’ll return
but should you see this night
the clearest night
like there would be no questions,
just acceptance and thanks.

Franjipani on me,
through the window
everything drifts.
There’s a gleaming sleekness
and
still
I spill the my wine, the red
because a beetle came careering at my forehead
the place your hand rest
and touches.

Tiny taxi boats
and moonfish glide and
surface.

The moon has me gripped and gently caressed.
I fall to my knees
for its beauty
takes me.

I am willing to die in your light.
I’ve grazed my knees from the falling
but only joy
my midnight blue.

It’s nearly a full moon
and I haven’t seen your face since I don’t know when.
I remember you though,
I remember your skin
your voice
the things you said
the pain you felt
the illusion that underneath these skies
I’d found my lost part,
spinning wildly around
the centuries
landing right there beside me
feeling like there had been
no departures.

I may never see you again
and if I do I am not sure how I would
contain the lonely space
the one you flew from
the departure
from your home in me.

It’s all
the others gaze upon your body.
I’m alone
isolate
but warm.
Watching.
Haunting.
Serious
Passionate ghost dance.

I long to return to see the place where you stood
and I force myself not to.

You are somewhere distant.

Open again
this same heart
on this earth
by this ocean
somehow.

t.s. 1994

 

 

Changing of the guard

returning to the faster world of one step at a time
of re-aligning synapses
catching tears with cue tips as another’s mother dies
3 of us have lost our girls
a changing of the guard
a sadder morning sunset
inverse
concave thread of pain
scolding
as you swallow
and stuck half way down
what am i here for
to catch my babies before they hit the pavement
and crack
to the pace of non- adjectival
silence

ts

1/2/10

 

I’ve walked

Seems she has barely been beautiful,
seems she has barely been sung.
Once again the ugly duckling and never the graceful swan.
There walks that girl,boy,handsome other.
There walks her beating heart.
Such ugliness is a joke to his eyes,suggesting
cold
hard
bitchery,
but there sings her soul of butterflies
her weightless, shining form.
Leave her alone you bastard swine,leave her to swim and glide.
You’ve damaged her enough all said,
your barbs drawn blood,your words destroyed.
leave her
to all her beauty
that you will never see or touch
leave her alone
for she is alone
and you have made it so.

 

Poetic machine

the clothes dryer broke
the one I took from mums
I take off the lid to fix the starter switch
which
has blown
I
Turn the drum
to clear the lint which has gathered
over years and years
In big blue texta I find my father’s handwriting
2 black wires to the right
white to the center
whats left to the left

I touch the texta
I turn the drum
there must be more
he knew I’d open the dryer one day
he needed to say something
something else
like
I knew you’d open this dryer one day
and
so I write this message for you
I search for the hidden text
my secret
my father’s lost letter

2 black wires to the right
white to the center
whats left to the left

 

red guitar

 

could be because

my mother and father are dead

could be because

it’s red

likely that I’m hurting somewhere

as thats how we get fed

through

Sydney heat

humid air

Jacaranda rain

just me

and my red guitar.

 

 

 

 

 

 

a heartening tiredness

 

we allowed ourselves lastnight

to let the nectar flow

3 sisters who needed

to stitch the fractured images

of our mothers death

weep quietly at all

the should’ves and could’ves

conspiracy against nurses

cursing ourselves

to try and squeeze even 2 more days

of her life for us

selfishly

to hold her

out of love

out of morphine haze

out of this world

such a private thing is grief

but the company of sisters

shared an unbelievable pain

and helps one feel

a little less alone

8:41 PM

 

There is a certain silence.

Father

in death

you were hard and cold

but you looked somewhat beautiful and sad

but Mama

you looked like Head Angel

and I could’nt come too close,

though

I kissed your silver hair

without a touch to your

hard block,

cold block,

heavy, light body

with a spirit which had long gone.

My head is so confused as to where you might be.

All my existential reckonings have been fraught

with warm, intangible locations of your spirit

and your

soul.

All those heavy kilos of invisible belief.

49 days here?

Gone to Forster fishing?

Nowhere!

Least of all with Dad.

Least of all with me.

Why didn’t I take notes when you told me who

it was in that photo.

You told me again and again but never enough to

remember.

There is a certain

silence.

ts. 2010

 

 

 

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