on love (a List poem)

 
 
One word, more meanings.  
I love that about words.  
I love my barista 
He makes the best flat white.  
I love the colour orange. 
And the taste of orange - 
But not together with chocolate.  
I love chocolate.  
I love the way watercolour paints 
Flow together.  
I love motorcycles.  
I love my dog.  
I love crunchy peanut butter 
And Vegemite - 
But not on the same piece of toast.  
I love my colleagues - 
Some of them anyway.  
I love cheese and wine.  
I love beer and curries.  
I love the beach, 
And the desert, 
And the forest. 
I love meditation. 
I love that you are still reading this, 
thank you. 
I love the smell 
of freshly tilled soil 
and newly mown grass. 
I love birds.  
I love lists.  
I love my son. 
I am In love with my wife.  

Daydream

A gentle breeze stirs
Carrying the scent of salt,
Touching my skin seductively
I drift back into sleep
Where she visits me again,
Just out of reach,
She smells like the beach,
A mixture of salt coconut and sand
And she dances slowly
To some internal music
That only she can hear,
Sunlight glistens on damp skin
And reflects off white sand,
Too bright,
I turn my head,
The sea breeze
Lifts me from this wool-gathering 
And surrounds me once again –
In cool fragrant air,
The distant call of sea birds,
And the oceans gentle sough

No

In a bed

Or a car.

On a plane

Or a train.

In the long grass

Or a barren beach.

Against a wall

Or a kitchen table.

As long as it isn’t

Against a will.

Flying High

 In my dreams I can fly 
Above trees, or
 Below powerlines.

In my dreams nobody cares 
That I soar 
Above the madding crowd.

Down here amongst it
Things are different
People care how high you fly.

Shudder the tall poppy,
Watch your back
The high flyer. 

I wonder if we all flew
High or low
Would the walker be envied?

Nothing to fall from.
No need to be guarded.
Casually moving forward.

I will fly in my dreams.
In the privacy of my mind.
And judge nobody.  

Zephyr

Descending from a lapis sky

It skimmed the surface,

Of an equally blue ocean.

Raising tiny peaks

On an otherwise slate smooth sea.

 

It reached and pushed

Making patterns

Of varying shades of blue,

And occasional flecks of white,

Which stood starkly against the mirror.

 

Upon greeting the shore

It embraced the Cotton Trees

Lining the peninsula beach.

Tossing leaves and small branches

In a waltz of whispers and clicks.

 

Passing the trees and onto the path

It pressed a cotton skirt

Against the body of a young walker,

Taking with it the fragrances

Of coconut oil and Chanel.

 

Racing along the jetty

It caused the young fisherman

To lift his head, smell the air and smile.

He closed his eyes, as the breeze

Returned to the crystal sky

Naked Heart

Let my clothing fall

And step into the oceans chill

Let my defences down

Welcome my racing heart

Give thanks that I am able, still

.

Ritual acts refine me

Habitual ones define me

Maybe I’ll let you see me

Beneath the skin that binds me

Under my ever-watchful real me

.

Be kind to others always

It’s a motto to live by

And it is easy enough to say

Harder though to play –

Life is, a double edged sword

.

Opening my heart to you

There is nothing harder to do

But your spirit welcomes mine

Allowing light to shine

On my mystical heart sublimed

Murmur #7 (Dissent)

Since the beginning of democracy,

It has been there.

In the sixties and seventies

We chained ourselves to machines

We protested with slogans –

Make love not war

Ban the bomb

No nukes…

And we grew our hair.

The eighties and nineties came

We shouted it in our music

Punk

Grunge

Techno, and

Rap

We threw away old music conventions

Made it our own and screamed our angst

The two thousands arrived

We whispered

No shouting from rooftops this time

Or from Wall Street windows

Nine eleven.

Terror quietened the murmur

But didn’t stop it.

We spoke softly of it in homes

And workers clubs

And it simmered in our minds

And now the twenty tens

Our phones remind us

Nowhere is free of the murmur.

It’s read by tourists

While sipping cocktails

Served by underpaid indigenous workers

It’s tweeted from exotic locations

Usually only concerned

With cocaine and flesh.

And why is this murmur encouraged?

Because the murmur of dissent

Creates the dissenter

And the dissenter is easily bought.

Once you have enough dissenters

You have the ultimate tool…

Power.