.
On my way to the letterbox
I met this god
who knew me.
So I ran
.
in fear because I
didn’t even know
myself the way he looked
through me. Stone
.
gods stare at nature un-
moved so I didn’t
run to them. Money
gods take. All the
.
pleasure gods leave
me starving for
more and more… I want
more. So I keep
.
running around
the block knowing
he’s beside
the letterbox. Knowing one
.
day I’ll realise
this is stupid
stop and say
“Umm… Hi”
.
.
it hardly seems fair
this piece of outdoor
furniture demands
my attention on a day like today
the first sun
in two weeks
wind howling
to play with that kite
we’ve used once
my son jumping
to bounce on the trampoline with me
until our heads turn into electricity
but the gaping
grains of cypress whine louder than the wind
.
the skin on my hands would love to be bathed
in oil – to look and feel like last year
instead they’ll smell
like turps for the next two days
next time
I sit on this bench I expect
it to write me a better
poem
than this one.
.
I haven’t posted much recently with much of my poetic energy going into stretching myself at a poetry course at Queensland Writers Centre. Last month I wrote this haibun (prose and haiku) from a real experience.
.
Saturday 4:30am The front door bashed through my sleep with the weight of an arm that knows how to handle itself. Track suit pants struggle down the hallway as another knock took care of my remaining grogginess. The cold air hit my bare chest as I opened the door to the law stood cold with the kid from up the street. Morning sir sorry to wake you and make you stand here in the cold but Jonny here is charged by his Dad for trespassing on his property and stealing his bike. There is obviously a breakdown of relationship we understand you’re aware of already. An adult needs to sign for bail and you’re the closest to a parent he’s got. He’s to be at children’s court on Tuesday morning.
.
a father’s bike
resting under his house
– cold street air
.
For the month of October I am developing my poetry skills at a Queensland Writers Centre workshop with Brisbane poet Graham Nunn. As part of QLD Writer’s Week Graham is featuring emerging poets on his blog and so here I am on Another Lost Shark . Please head over and check out my new poem ‘the jasmine fence’ and my discussions about writing poetry.
.
Sunday morning
a cold sleepy grey
forgetting –
we turned the calendar to Spring last week – inside
the man speaks about Momentum
on his TV show – a few grey pebbles rattle
in his words of hope and God loves us
again – I’ve made a coffee
too bitter – my boy’s
legs trundle his tricycle up and back
each time he passes my seat – he sings ‘bye’
a single drop of grey from the heavens
joins my coffee
a long journey
.
his curious little hands pick up pebbles
from the garden
now they rattle in my coffee
along with the drop of heaven
it tastes sweeter
.
I’ve been listening to podcasts of Haiku Chronicles by Alan Pizzarelli and Donna Beaver. These little Japanese poems amaze me more and more. Here are another couple of my attempts at the short little haiku:
.
dusty corner
of a busy warehouse
butterfly… sweep.
.
sitting in traffic
watching the flight of a crow
on a low grey sky
.
telephone wires
connecting –
possum’s nightly walk
.
.
.
.
along the wide streets
suddenly-
jacarandas
.
pied hill prawns 