Despondence arrives with spotting on the roof. Warm rain falls on the paddocks, to Grow feed for the cattle, as Hope drips warm into water. Spreading tendrils, sinking clots. Iron falls heavy With the rhythm on the tin. Metallic, rusted, and running. New moon, same loss, A failure to keep it within. The sky drops … Continue reading Breaking
Category: Poetry
Waiting for the moon to rise
The breeze brings the smell of fresh oysters, as a celestial blue sky is glimpsed behind the clouds, white and dark grey, but breaking into tendrils, unthreatening. Sculptural cranes in the port to the north could be art, and the low tide reveals mudflats, driftwood wrapped in seaweed, sand caviar made by tiny crabs. A seagull … Continue reading Waiting for the moon to rise
Offspring
Here are my children whom I've been nurturing, waiting for, for 45 years. Now they emerge fully grown, some still immature. None of them worldly. These little beings I have been gestating in my mind will never cry all night, though they keep me awake and wake me early. My babies, conceived by all my … Continue reading Offspring
An invitation
The poet, Caresse, invited me to come into this. The this, so broad, so deep it has no horizon. Precious, priceless jewels so tiny they exist in theory, So vast they are incalculable. There is no longer any me in anything of value: The tiny being at the centre of my universe now has a … Continue reading An invitation
Home
Ada hums on the arm of the sofa eyes half closed, heavy from watching the steady sheeting of rain enveloping the house in pink noise, rising and falling lulling the cat to sleep.
waiting
i am waiting i might not look it from outside. i function. i socialise. i eat, exercise. i do my work and i play but i am frozen. i am waiting. i expected my answer three weeks ago. two weeks ago i felt sure i would know. now i will hear in every next. moment. … Continue reading waiting
Gnarly cat at the park
Gnarly old cat, once white, goes about his business Leaving traces for other gnarly cats to know he's about. Head low he moves with deliberate steps, listening behind him. The police man doesn't whistle as the cat treads on the grass.
Flower bud
Flower bloomed too soon Showing the promise of pink Inside browned petals.
In the People’s Park
A white woman practices tai chi earnestly. Her movements are precise. She bends deeply, flexible and strong. Her face contorts in concentration. She studies with an honoured master. A calligrapher sets up his materials A brush, a pot of water, the path His movements flow like his water As he dances his ephemeral poetry. The … Continue reading In the People’s Park
Tiger Hill
East Side "Every corner is suitable for making poetry", and Here I sit, a freshly minted poet In a pagoda on top of a hill Surrounded by bamboo and birdsong Overlooking Sunzu's parade ground. Artist, scholar, and warrior are all one. North side Clouds melted in tea fragrance Now surrounded by tea bushes and the sound … Continue reading Tiger Hill
Sarah Bonnar 