orientation lying in my bedlistening for the sunrisemy feet stretch northwarming my toes on the equator.right ear to the morning,left to the setting sun,my hair drifts southwards –tidal swirlings on an infinite sea. arms spreading east and westform the coastal beltouteniqua tstitsikama langeberg kougamountainous names that follow curvespeak in breasts with armpit valleysand soft catchments…
there is a cottageat the edgeof the woodsin it lives a womana woman a woman,more.it lives in womenthe cottageat the edgeof the woods. the herbs that hang from the raftersbunches of mpephu and nettleand tulsi, the roses that growa blood thorned tangleswoon sweet andspread on october cloths to dry,the bottled elder turnedby the light of…
between closing the gateon new planted bedslate evening – winter cold,and heading insideto close up the house,snap kindling, light a fire. between tree silhouettesand golding skythe way opensinto forest – and who knew who knowsthe paths taken the limbs touchedskin to bark- who knows the trunksleaned on in the quiet.who but the bird watchedshadows among…
so long so longsince i have been heredipping into this icy lake uncoloured morningslippered and blanket wrappedfor the cold coldthat sits at the base of the spine where the donkey was nail beat years agoon a red dust road in the sunmake-shift harnessed to a scrap cartgoing nowhere same low curve back where the needleswere…
we walk amongst the bones here. early rain has sprouted greenalong the path and buds drink swell waitto burst drunkenly into bloom human calcaneous and soft ball jointsfind footing on jutting mountain bones –sandstone knees and elbows –scapular, like a blade,like a contour, like a cliff,granite sternum and ribsto protect the heartbeating still – hips…
still now,with morningsspeaking in dragon breathand prophetic tonguesof shortening daysand the cold that comesthat comes –still nowthe birds proclaim the day,call clear bluehorizon to horizonwhile singing autumn songs,gorging themselveson fruit full ripe andsweet with sunlight gatheredand grown to seed.
1.in shades of green and greythe ocean spoke the coming stormwhile breakers tossed ice-whispsagainst the tide. double socked andbraced to the windwe face that cloud stacked horizonand give thanks for the rainthe rainthe rain that comesand those who returnwith the snap cold turnof seasons. 2.by 1750 the north atlantic right whalewas as good as extinct…
1.there are no crueland bitter gods here,no winter froststhat bite black deathin the shortening days – our gods are moon and sunand the green green growing,our gods are river and tree,the grass rattle seeds of summerand the songline of birdssinging bridges between worlds – the gods here speak frog-tonguefly translucent on insect wingsshatter the darknesswith…
Not a poem, but probably more beautiful. Francesca had her baby goat at 5:30am this morning.
corona has left meslow to think, slow to actslow to write – a 50kg bag of grainthree times the weight is was beforeand all the while the planet is hurtlingtowards our own inevitability so much fasterthan most of us can breathe through and francesca the goat laboursthrough the bright sky nightsecond of september and perfectly…