picked up
an old coat
dipped
hands in pockets
picked up
a used ticket
dipped
hands in pockets
picked up
unstamped letters
dipped
hands in pockets
picked up
useless habits
dipped
hands in pockets
picked up
restless dreams
dipped
hands in pockets
(it’s just another day)
brain
dots
lit
up
No stars
no sun
no blue
just sky.
And far above me
falling fast away
the ground.
Where we find meaning, it’s deep within ourselves. Not out there—not on the internet. Not in the images of others, other lives, not in the lies—we eat them up, rapacious, with our eyes, until they eat our hearts. We swallow bites of presentation, of fabrication, and digest. We perceive, to occupy our minds. But beneath perception lies the truth inside—unoccupied, we find it in our dreams. The truth is there in music, played on heart-strings, composed upon our skins. The truth is there in tears brought forth by melodies divine, by poetry, by the pangs of night’s desire. These are the essences of meaning that lie beneath our love. Truth is not in shallowness and shortness, short attention spans, short thought. Not in the photos flashing on our phones, swiped and swept aside. The truth is there in notes and notions that run up and down our spines, shiver there, linger there, and infiltrate our souls. I cannot tell you what is truth—but I tell you, it is there.
We wove some magic here.
Deckled trees with fairy dust—
the figments of our imaginations drew lines
between the sky
between the leaves
between the earth.
A white butterfly
—wandered, onward, captain of our fairy band—
buffeted by the breeze
took flight
and glittered flicking wings
into the sunlight.
He was like our memory
—allied and squandered to the air—
a captain captive to the passing currents
at rest on tides of drifting listlessness
buoyed on waves of sound—loud
reverbed from the earth itself
and beneath the ground dispersed to nothing but vibrations.
Caws of magpie on the branches of trees
beyond the fence-lines
called insistent, echoed
and, in flight, drew ever more away.
We left a fish adrift on the wall
—light-flicker, silver scales in the sun—
to tinker with our senses
breaking beams against one another in refraction
into parts.
We played colour against cousin
and deployed in every gesture of design
a symmetry of power in all things that’s mirrored
in perfection
by the most broken shook-up thoughts of early morning
when night’s break seems to slumber
beyond the restless sleepless soul.
Little carrions of life
—bearing sunshine as they went
light caught white upon their tiny wings—
darted, tumbled, climbed and flew
their circus one of circles through the sky
an endless repetition of their patterns
that went on gently till the nightfall.
We saw every tiny thing alight
—their edges made their edges
and at once made melting edge-to-edge—
their glimmered rims glimpsed through lashes
looked-at sideways
caught in sketches from the doorways
of the moments
only half-here and half-now.
Sky-shimmers, the lineaments
copied in colour to our files and stored in footloose memory
to make the fodder of our dreams
when distorted
cards shuffled
and re-drawn upon the pages of imagination sleeping.
We weave some magic here
sleeping awake
in day-dreaming
in slow reading
of the air.
the could’ves, the should’ves, and the never-dids
the would’ves, and the won’ts
some weren’t-to-bes and what-nots
some forget-me-nots and why-nots
the might’ve-gots and won’t-be-gots
the shan’t-haves, the can’t-haves
the probably-never-would’ve-anyways
and the but-we-thought-we-had-everythings.
wait
a train passes
quietly whistles
whispers past
wait
in silence latent
another train passes
faster
wait
in mounting silence
with its beauty
latent
silent
gone
wait
in stillness
with its silent beauty potent
fragrant stillness
idly still
wait
and another train passes
and silence once broken
creaks achingly
shrieks
the ugly shriek of morning cockatoos
strewing seeds from the gum-tops
fretfully
shrieking
swooping wide white wings low over streets
with anxious shrieking
and shaking
as another train passes
rumbles
and another train
grumbles
sweeping silver streak
shrieking
creaking on the tracks
rumbles underground
the city groans
achingly
shrieks
the city groans
anxiously
speaks
in silent ugly words
scattered like seed by the morning cockatoos
as another train passes outside
its rumbling vibrates the floor
pouring its energy
into my feet
into my spine
whispers
the city breathes
as another train passes outside
pouring the sorrowful
onto the streets
rumbles
pouring its energy
into my feet
into my spine
and in the city’s breathless silence
the craw of a crow
the ugly morning shriek of cockatoos
soaring
from the tall gums that line the tracks
mast and sails (the shops are ships)
as another train passes outside
whispers
into my feet
into my spine
as another train passes outside
echoes long down the cutting
carries ghosts of memory
flitting past
past
past
as another train passes outside
and thoughts are scattered
like wildflower seeds
and another train passes
diffused
like the broken ripple of water
after a ship has passed through
glinting in the sunlight
as another train passes outside
and light rain-drops titter at the windows
chuckling at the tipsy-pink rose glass
and the rain falls more steadily now
drenching
grows louder
not patter but pour
and a train passes
muffled
whispers
the city weeps
sweeps the dirt from its gutters
runs rivers
ripples down the rose-glass window panes
and a train passes
rumbles
and groans
the city grumbles
and shrieks the ugly shriek of morning cockatoos
and another train passes
whispers
the city breathes
once lulled
now lush
the rain sweeps across the rooftops
runs rivers
down the drain-pipes
tips tips tips
drips
down the chimney-pots
where there’s no wood-smoke
on a wednesday
And this
is all you wanted
it’s this simple
and this small.
She switched off the grammar check
and breathed
a sigh of relief
the words
unfrozen
break and drift apart at will
no commas rules to divide them no
stops
only false starts
and broken shards of sweet
gin-laced ice
melting.
Magical: Day One 