Drift

Clumped wool braided
combed, re-set
Wispy fingers spread and stretch
a dusty fan of tendril
Feather trails meet corn-row hair
mown, tended, raked and filed.

Black sky-tremble
rumbling bulk
Behemoths leak
and spill in sheets
Charcoal scrapes a cobalt threat
growling gape and thunder thud

Router edged white soldiers march
stretched out on parade
Wind whips through
unpaints the sky
Etch-a-sketch
blank tableau wipe

A wobbly Lenin smokes his pipe
thought bubbles rise and disappear
Sunken skulls stare sightlessly
from a listing galleon
Jesus holds a fluffy wink
through a duck-egg window

Gunpowder trail
ignite hot sputter
surround a chunky ice-cream scoop
Orange blaze aurora swoon
gasps in pink
recedes to sleep

(David)

Cetaceous Siren

The modern Melvillian call entraps
then enchants
a promenade congregation,
as hungry eyes turn seaward

Startling white flute glistens
languidly greets, salutes...
monstrous, visceral power slaps
An azure fog mists the Lilliputians
sighs melt souls...peace

Undersea boil of power
pulsing aqua pout
Billow spray and champagne fizz
split chromed plates of ocean steel

Heaving breaches dazzle
freeze frame linger
North to nurture
nestle nature

Satin corduroy
fades to glass
barely
a huffing puff farewell

(David)

True South

Thirty strong, a surging pod
coruscating ocean prance
Steely grey bobbing lustre
from northern rock shelf, ocean depths
to southern fish feed playground

Travellers two, cigar cocooned
howling shriek of gleaming metal
slicing skies, vapour trails
Antipodean peace, a lullaby
a sweet caress awaits

Moist gills twitch
minds release and sigh
Sleek surf power
glide and strive
a goal ahead, warm salt soak

Loll in shallows, plump and flush
tension skin shrugged off and shed
Power charged,
swim north against the tide
Begin a phase anew...

(David)

Bush ranging

Painting

a landscape Nolan-style

blurs our abstracted

sense of belonging                                         

to the world

Sitting

astride our trusty steed:

we are a Ned Kelly figure

escaping the long arm of the law

and order that threatens

 to enslave;

armor-plated against life’s hard knocks; rules

and regulations – self-imposed

Discovering,

in our flight for freedom

every year

Ned’s spirit that rises

from the ashes

and ghosts

through the countryside riding

secret pillion,

on our motorcycle

(Cassy)

Real Outback Setting

We have sailed

off the edge of the world

into a space

where place

and time

are elastic stretching

seemingly

forever

The watch

- ever vigilant-

over hours

minutes

seconds

strictly regulated

controlling

ordered existence:

receding…

The chartered routes

between places

and faces

that recur,

worn into the folded creases

that map

the paths of our lives:

gone.

Now:

We wake each day

to dream our way

across an ocean

of sky softly

flocked with clouds;

where drifts of cotton

froth the edges

of the highway –

a shimmering current

drawing us

floating

in a liquid landscape

sipping

iced sunshine

exploring

the limits

of infinity…

(Cassy)

This poem was written during a 3000 km motor bike ride through outback Australia. We’d been on a number of long rides before, but David and I had never ventured quite so far from “civilization” and the experience was exhilarating.

I tried to capture the feeling of time and space almost disappearing in a setting where the normal boundaries of existence were pushed beyond the everyday.

The metaphor of sailing and exploring that is introduced in stanza one, shows how we felt like explorers who were discovering “new” territory.

In connection with the idea of setting, I talk about “time” in the world we had left behind; and use a regular rhythm to indicate the way it was ordered.

Continuing the idea of setting by looking at “place”, I extend the “explorer” metaphor with a “map of life”.

The final stanza brings the reader/listener into the present feeling of displacement and disorientation that is experienced when confronted by so much emptiness, and no time limits in which to explore it. The layers of meaning in such words as “flocked” (describing the texture, but also the way the clouds look like sheep) and “froth” (where it acts as a noun – “cotton froth”- and a verb – “froth the edges”) indicate the richness of the experience.

Space Invaders

They stare at us,

these fuzzy brown cows

with round eyes

pausing

mid-chew

with a quizzical look

as if to say

“Who are you?”

White-padded sheep

also shun us

thudding

away on sturdy legs

drumming

a grassy retreat.

Pink-throated galahs

join the chorus

voicing

their protest

wheeling

in shrill circles overhead.

They all see us:

exotic beast –

part black-clad man

part silver-sinewed machine –

tearing

through the fabric of the greengrey hills

enfolding

the core of the earth.

We are

alien in appearance

but

inside

at heart

a part

of this wide wild land.

(Cassy)

River System

Slowly I wind

my way

down

the face

of the mountain

slipping between

rough cheeks of cleft rock

rippling through

wrinkled valleys

sliding over

smooth skin stones

washing away

the debris

of the day…

The future digs deep eroding

the past destroying

the me

that was.

I am crying

a river

of tears.

(Cassy)

Running On Empty

Outgunning the sun

on our humming machine

we ride

chasing the last feeble fingers of light.

The empty landscape is full –

furry cows are beads of jet

on panels of green velvet;

coarse-weave linen

swathes fields

in folds

of brown;

shrill screeching of galahs

punctuates

the clarity of blue;

golden waves of wattle waft

and wash us

in heady scent;

stegosaurus mountain ranges studded

with spines

of silhouetted trees;

craggy cliffs carved roughly

in relief

against

the silken smoothness of the sky;

earthy tang of soil dug

and grass cut.

Flying along we unwrap

thin

slices

of

other

lives

that sustain

our secret hoard of memories

enough

to last

till…

next time…

(Cassy)

a meteorological theory of relativity

At last

the land

can quench

her thirst sucking

down

the

drops

that

fall

from a finally leaden sky.

The air is soft with the promise

of potential greening

and sagging

with the scent

of wet cement.

Texan floods present a tantalizing glimpse

of a feast

of plenty;

yet

the Texans devour the dearth of moisture

in our earth

with hungry eyes.

                                              

(Cassy)

(This was written at the end of a long period of drought in Australia when there were floods, at the same time, in Texas.)

Waiting...

The hunger of impatience

in

the

line

at

the

super-

market

eats

me up from the inside until

I reach the point

of implosion

in the attempt to fill in the gaps in life with consumer goods;

endlessly straining towards

repletion.

Yet,

stolidly implacable, the ships composedly queue

to fill their bellies with coal,

with no useless repining or unreasonable expectations;

floating islands of peace,

unshakeable against the assaulting surge of the sea.

(Cassy)