the colour of our lives

poetry • celebration • faith • nature • humanity • imperfections • glory

Archive for the tag “narrative”

resonator

jerked from sleep by a loud name – his – urgent
stumble down the hall, into her room.
– Dad, I had a nightmare, and he lifts the weight
of her growing body into a hug.
– Want me to sleep next to you, in the spare
bed? – Yeah. – Let’s go to the toilet first. – OK.
Carry her down the hall, and back, still sleepy,
clinging.
– Want to tell me what the dream was? – Yes.
And there are good and bad lands; white-striped,
face-painted warriors milling on the far shore.
Mum is there too, defending. The narrow water
between good and evil is leapt, breached, and
none of it makes sense in a narrative way…
– Thanks for telling me … we’re going to go to
sleep now. Love you. –  Mmm.
A single rustling turn; breathing, regular, quiet.
Nothing, then a bronze-shelled insect, closer,
along a vertical wall, closer in the pale tungsten
light, and he is awake again, facing his own
demons.

Hardware

Australia Day at the local hardware store
and I conspire with a gush of grim faces
making their purchase in pursuit of the
Home Beautiful

the only smile I see is unrelated to the
improvement of our solid houses as a
mother entices her toddling son across
the shop floor

at the checkout I pass a small television-
shaped plastic tag and agree to a small
debt as the manager decides she will
need four counters open today

I ride home past an elegant address and
a poor immigrant father and son stop as
the small boy lingers in the driveway like
he wants to live there instead

on the edge of cool

morning on the frayed edge of cool fashionable hopes
well-placed behind the plain red-brick façade looming
halls still resonating with American preacher and hints of
upper middle trousers on plastic stacking chairs / all the
usual requirements are met bewildering advertising
outside the door no menu just worship words and a
mission statement like the council two doors down and
definitely no promise of espresso / life as God intends for
a few hundred elect mostly not from around here anyway
who’d want to live on a busy street like this the Saturday
nights would be unbearable / walking past the two closed
sets of double doors Sunday in January a jingling of faint
gospel pop fades to the natural chatter of pedestrian
crossings, chocolatiers and tanned grey-haired couples
sipping herbal teas across newspapers / downhill
aerodynamic railway station roofline arches glass and
grey metal over pigeons nodding sharply away from
skater chicks and the Thai family with two boxes of
vegetables / and the bearded middle aged guy locks his
bicycle to a street post squints at the sun over the
market checks his pocket and walks inside into the crowd

The gardens of paradise

Outlined against a purpling sky, fat
insects labour through water-soft air
matching muted clattering sounds
with storm-loosened palm fronds.
Vapoured breezes push through
flyscreens caressing busy humans in
incandescent rooms.

Chromate moon silhouettes a king of
eucalypts, massive shadowed branches
praying skyward, nature in reluctant
battle with angular shapes of light
from the signs and windows of
suburbia. Behind the lunar lighthaze,
Orion’s southern twin cartwheels
through the eastern sky.

in dawnlight, tended gardens emerge
from sharpening shadows.
Meticulously weed-free woodchips are
haven to fledgling bushland, knee-
high natives promising the meditative
comfort of wilderness, a planted
paradise edging closer, truer, more
like love itself, between house and street.

Last true revision 4 March 2010

(15 July 2010)

a crowd of pelicans and cormorants plays catch-up on
the wind-scuffed waters of the bay. The concealed
protagonists, a pod of grey-sleek dolphins on the hunt,
lead the predatory race, herding a school of unseen fish
into the shallows. The pelicans, bemused-looking, dip
hopeful beaks and return, empty; the pod moves faster
than shifting fashion. Cormorants, more dolphin-like,
meet with more success; the only visual proof that the
fish exist found by diving terns, plunging quickly and
retreating from the entourage, a handbreadth flash of
silver writhing sideways. Calmer now, the dolphin
champions of this scene exit, away from clots of
spellbound humans in earshot of  puffing blowholes
and slapping tails.

a crowd of pelicans and cormorants plays catch-up on the wind-scuffed waters of the bay. the concealed protagonists, a pod of grey-sleek dolphins on the hunt, lead the predatory race, herding a school of unseen fish into the shallows. the pelicans, bemused-looking dip hopeful beaks and return, empty; the pod moves faster than shifting fashion. cormorants, more dolphin-like meet with more success; the only visual proof that the fish exist found by diving terns, plunging quickly and retreating from the entourage, a handbreadth flash of silver writhing sideways. Calmer now, the dolphin champions of this scene exit, away from clots of spellbound humans in earshot of  puffing blowholes and slapping tails

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