Lichen - stone #8

outside the front door
lichen on a palm tree

years ago i learnt that lichen
is a signifier of clean air
so I breathe in
and out

washing up - stone #7

washing up curry pots
listening to Massive Attack
a gecko worrying the walls

Sunset - stone #6

After the storm, the sky is the colour of marmalade. 

The sun has split open, staining the clouds.

Flying foxes awake from their slumber and their graceful black shapes begin to punctuate the thick evening light. 

Lorikeets - stone #5

Lazy Sunday afternoon - falling asleep in the garden
rainbow lorikeets and myna birds ping-ponging in the trees
the sun is heavy and hot in the sky

Dragonflies - stone #4

iridescent scarlet dragonflies hum around outside, looking for mates.
a black lizard darts across the path.
the leaves of a palm tree rustle in the hot breeze.

Currumbin Alley - stone #3

in the warm sea, a man is teaching his two children to surf.  they lie on tiny surfboards in their wetsuits.

as he pushes them into the waves, he shouts - go right! stand up!

i catch a wave into shore then jump off my board. little brown fishes dart around my feet in the shallow clear water.

Cicadas - stone #2

invisible cicadas drone in the trees.
the heat is incessant, thick like a heavy coat.
momentarily the drone stops, then starts again.

today i carry the sense of something ending.
but lizards still skim around,
and flowers bloom on the red orchid tree.

Auckland, New Year's Day - stone #1

clouds sweep into the city harbour,

its turquoise waters darkening.

the wind hammers tiny indentations onto puddles, 

and blows our hair into the sky.

on the quay, a one legged pigeon stands sentry, 

his little eyes flitting around.

stone #31 - nightsky

Clear cold night, stars tingling
distant rumble of the motorway
the earth has bellyache

stone #30 - water

sunlight flitters and scatters on the swimming pool wall,
floating on my back, I count the oak beams above.
afterwards we walk by a frozen lake,
the dark shadows of fish underneath.

stone #29 - birds

 

 Photo source

birds have collected on the pylon, swept up by the wind like driftwood, dusk drawing them in.  they sit close together, their little bodies warming each other, calling quietly, folding in their feathers, holding tight.

stone #28 - geese

 Photocredit

just before we sleep, the kettle is boiling.  I pour hot water onto chamomile teabags in white mugs. then there is the sound of geese honking.  i worry about why they are flying at night, and think about how their wings will frost with cold, and their beaks will develop a silver glaze.  the sound passes like a tide - loud, louder, quieter, quiet, until it fades.  the sound of the cat crunching his biscuits brings me back to the kitchen, and another day passes.

stone 27 - lanes

curving country lanes, hedgerows, rain falling softly, the night coming in thick and fast, an ache in my chest.

stone 26 - moon

scimitar moon
cat on the windowsill
one bright star

stone #25 - fishing

In my daydream I became a fisherman,
casting a net of starlings over a cloud,

army helicopters were distant silver buoys,
marking the spot where the horizon joined up

with the earth. A wily bystander was a buzzard,
hunched in a tree, a crooked figure draped in a greatcoat.

Believing in other ways of fishing, he cast his own net onto the road,
onto a meal prepared by a car, and picked at the formless red interior,

his head moving with sharp, little movements, his yellow eyes
crystalline, vast; and above, the clouds kept shifting,

and the starlings had gone.

stone #24 - office

A woman repeatedly laughs like a flamingo being garrotted,

and you begin to listen out for it, to let yourself become irritated.

The striplights are stark and artificial, 

and the sun has not found a way out from behind the clouds.

The smell of a bonfire slinks its way inside the office,

and there is no fresh air to breathe, not here, not now.

stone #23 - tattoos

Your tattoos have faded with time,
Becoming an algae tide on your pale skin,
Thick smudges blooming from your strong forearms,
Burnt pistachio letters where your fingers join.

And like your tattoos have marked you,
Anxiety has been stained within you,
A spilt drink leaking into your dark corners,
Welling up in the whites of your eyes.

stone #22 - bulls

There is tenderness in his face, a gentle curiosity.
We could fill great buckets with his breath -
grassy lungfuls streaming out into the cool air.
Then the noise of my camera spooks him,
and he moves quickly, violently towards the hedgerow,
a skeletal, threadbare veil between us.
Soon there are thirty young bullocks,
jittery, huge, jostling for position,
watching our shadows trail away downhill,
unease hastening our steps.

stone #21

I looked up and the day was gone.
The sky had begun to bruise and the light
had become tinged with flecks of peach and violet.
A streetlamp was flickering on and off,
and small birds were soon to line up on the telephone wire.

stone #20 - rain

rain falls, trees weep.
everything is muffled under my hood.
later, when i look at my shoes, they have a tidemark,
a salt line, marking the boundary between before and after.