Month: May 2016

treading water

colleen Poetry , , ,

p4summ

The poem I share with you today comes from the third section of
my Poetry Anthology A Call to Listen.

This section called Treading Water consists of 13 poems mainly about the ocean, about dawn light and birds of the sea and lake.

Out the window which we call The Big Picture Window is the ocean, and Karangi Point. About three hundred meters further out is a reef of rock which the locals call The Bombora. It is a popular spot for fishing boats, deep sea divers, spear fishermen and of course flocks of Sea Gulls and Oyster Catchers.

On this day the sea was rather rough and the little boat out there bobbing up and down kept disappearing rhythmically behind the waves.

I was touched by the beauty of light and walked down onto the sand to be part of the scene. Enjoy this favourite poem of mine which is also, by the way, a 2015 award winning poem.

treading water

there is a touch of the transcendent
on the horizon today the sky spreads
like the sound of a symphony and shadows
the deep slate of sea with its surge
of rolling energy tufts of crested foam
and sweeps of spindrift thrown in the air
like hands of praise

out there crouches a small grey boat
bobbing in and out of view
a sea snail with its feelers up poised

maybe fishermen or divers near the hidden reef
maybe sailors to catch the coloured winds of the dawn
i do not expect to know more

ebb tide the hollowed waves
like hungry mouths gulp
stretch languidly to the edge
lull like the pause between briny breaths
then recede

on the shoreline of my mind
thoughts tread water
more lonely than the boat on that slate-grey sea
as my footprints meld with the tide
back home i continue
to stream a shelf of diaries

in the clouds

colleen Poetry , , , , ,

clouds.

This poem came from a bit of fun we had on the first day I used my new Apple laptop. I wrote for a while and when I pushed save it went directly to the cloud.
‘O no ‘ i laughed . . . I rushed onto the balcony there was the big beautiful sky, cloudless. Then I had some fun writing the following:

in the clouds

as a child i loved to lie on grass
see shapes in clouds
i still see feathers and angels

as a poet i have dreamt of clouds
marshmallow at sunset
cauliflower by day
ruffled at dusk

on my new mac air
i compose the first draft of a poem
push save
and it goes to icloud

then the panic sets in
i rush outside
except for a tiny airbrush
cloudless

should have done this yesterday
when there was a swarm of clouds
yet there was fog then
surely thats not ideal

this would only be reliable
if we lived under a cloud
far too gloomy for me

some say i have my head in the clouds
maybe
i would like to live on cloud nine
but that’s not good for a writer

sometimes on the horizon
i see a cloud-bank
but no-one trusts banks today
i know we have cloudbursts especially in summer
what will happen to my poem then

maybe icloud beclouds the issue

cumulus although poetic are unstable
glinting cirrus are too high and made of crystal
nimbus would serve the purpose thick and grey
but stratus are soft and luxurious
my poem would swoon curled up there

my grandchild

colleen General, Poetry , , ,

Becoming a grandparent is a special experience. I have written lots of poetry about my grandchildren.
This is the first and only poem in this Anthology
A Call to Listen. However i am hoping to gather them all up at some time and put them together for the family. Some of you will relate to the sentiment in my grandchild

my grandchild

gathered up
in my arms
warm and snuggled
is my grandchild

a tiny hand reaches out
to explore my nose
it grasps my glasses
my earrings fascinate

eyes shine with curiosity
smile with delight
laughter is bountiful
and this tiny warm body melts me

i whisper it is a beautiful world
and it is

yet in the background
i know it too is a troubled world

my eyes mirror a world of love
and i hold this precious baby ever closer

rainy day woman

colleen Poetry ,

I stood outside a small intimate Art Studio in Roseville, waiting to meet a friend to share a meal and movie.
A painting in the window, caught my imagination.
I hope these words capture the beauty and mystery of my experience.

rainy day woman

oil paint drizzles
down a canvas
raining over
brushed collaged skin
alabaster
nuanced buff pink

a softly curving body
lies naked across a bed
open
a sacred text

orange cushions
luxuriate around her

chin rests on bent arm
fingers pensively
touch a lower lip

eyes
lowered
hold her mystery

at a takoyaki bar

colleen Poetry , , ,

Recognising and meeting a woman, one has not met before is a feat anytime, but in the busy streets of Tokyo it is more so.
One of my students from The Aromotherapy School in Toyko came to Sydney to study at Nature Care in Sydney, and her mother wanted to meet me as she want to hear about her daughter and to know more about Sydney. As a mother of a daughter I deeply understood.
Two mothers of daughters meet and spend the afternoon together.

at a takoyaki bar

by her smile in a sea of faces
on a busy street in Tokyo
we find each other

she elegant petite Japanese
I Australian in jeans jacket and backpack
her daughter our connection

at a takoyaki bar
we two women two languages
tell the stories of our lives
deep mesmeric wells of story
as one can only do with a stranger
with the distance for perspective
noticing the far can be near

with banter of nods and laughter
we chat and listen
listen
with heart and eyes

and with common feminine symbols
we understand each other

our sharing a shuttle
pulling weft across warp
no beginning no end
our fabric of conversation
seamless
and silence part of the weave
we enjoy the aroma of takoyaki
as it is prepared and cooked
share the meal
and together sip green tea

Takoyaki is a sea food dish, a Japanese specialty
cooked and served with ritual at the table sprinkled with bonito flakes and aonori

rendezvous

colleen Poetry , , ,

The following poem was written from a memory of a rendezvous. There were no words. Few would have noticed it. Early one morning sitting at a small outdoor restaurant on a narrow cobbled street just off the exciting Plaza Major having breakfast in Madrid, Spain . Yes we were people watching and we witnessed this exchange.

rendezvous

she plumply blooms
flowery blouse
curved simple skirt
bobby pinned hair
round smiling face

she sweeps the cobbled stones
around the entrance
to her shop on calle de zaragoza
tourist route to madrid’s plaza mayor

she moves to a rhythm
her sweepings her friendship offering

glances down the narrow way
then waves and blushes

the street cleaner in his eco-truck
moves towards her
nods
eases around her about her
his wet angled spinning brooms roar
he smiles and continues on

glowingly she looks after him
content with her rendezvous

she is flower enough

colleen Poetry , , ,

The following poem was written after a visit to the fruit and vegetable markets which is around Homebush area. It was early morning as we wanted to be there before the crowds to find red roses for a wedding. We bought roses from quite a few stalls and here I express a moment of one encounter of this early morning. A slow motion, stand still moment, in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the markets.

she is flower enough

loose hair caresses her shoulders
its pink streaks fall over her face
a shy flick
reveals a golden gypsy earring
and eyes that spark new bloom
the freshness of dawn

I reach out my hand
to touch the black velvet
in the folds of her red roses
and look up into her smile
catch her gaze

like pushing pause on a remote
the noise and haste of the flower markets
its busy orbit of colour and perfume
acrobatic swing of boxes and buckets
of tulips carnations and lilies
the pirouette of forklifts
the bustle
the call of bargains and buys
become still and mute

life rushes back
a trance broken with my whisper
three bunches of red roses please