sunrise over swamps

sunset over melancholy seas

Poem 20 of 30

The winter air has arrived before its time,

travelling north from icy Antarctic wastelands.

The wind is cold and seeps into the marrow

until the heartbeat slows and the mind turns inward,

falling into itself in a prison made of frozen bone pillars.

There is nothing left but

to watch the blue skies peer between the storm clouds.


[In case it’s not immediately obvious, this was written at the culmination of a very chilly autumn day in the southern part of mainland Australia. It can get very cold here!]

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Poem 16 of 30

Something is rattling in the wind. It sounds like an old canvas sail, metal clinking against metal, and the creak of aging wood on the water,

but we are far from the sea, and far from the life of salt-spray air and tides and

water rushing and pouring and sliding over the sand,

grinding ancient rock and bone to tiny particles

in an endless rhythm that began

at the start of all things.



Poem 8 of 30

His eyes reminded her of the sea: cool, pale, and catching the sunlight they took on shades of green and blue. Everything he said seemed as mysterious and deep as the waters of the ocean, inhabited by unseen thoughts and forms of unspeakable beauty, and as perfect and strong as the rhythms of the tide.

Her hair reminded him of waves swept along a wide river: dark and flowing through untamed forests and the dwelling places of iridescent dragonflies. Her every movement seemed as fluid as a wild animal hunting among vivid flowers

He did not know how to speak of it to her, nor her to him. They kept their silence.





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