Poetry & Music at Club Voltaire

This Sunday, 14 Raglan St Nth Melbourne from 7pm ...

Poster by Branko Kuzmanovic painting by Louis Welden Hawkins

Gooddess#8

Proud to be part of Goddess#8

D r e a m s

My new book.

Wild

                     they ate the Sabbath grain.

The women came,
one with her jar of nard.

In the leaves they breathe
of Galilee and Jerusalem
in tongues of flame
secretly

seeing though unseen
and knowing though unknown
of all things made and then unmade

like garments worn though never felt
next to the skin,
they travel time eternally.

Mother, daughter, sister, wife
scantly named

Maryam.

Star bright

Photo by Marie-Lan Nguyen

 

 

How are you fallen from Heaven
brighter than the other stars?

A doll, an idol, made of alabaster,
hollowed eyes filled with lazuli

walking on the land among aeroliths,
the moon’s horns in your hair

into the purpling evening you descend
to light the mansion of love.

Moon

Peacock feathers

Swarm

Words swarm.
Symbols stream.

Ideoglyphs
do not abrade the air.

They patter in the thalamus,
patterned in the eye.

There's honey in the hive
smelling of summer.

My scalp shifts,
shines.

Brilliant light swarms
within the wax.

White

White sky. My
eyes are dusty
dry.  I wish I could
weep.  There's a
drought drawn-out. I
might have wept when my
father died. White
blood. His hair
white, he was white, I
wept at his funeral.  We all did.  Now I've
wept myself
dry.

Rain.
The plants drink. The leaves
flutter. My eyes dusty
dry and I'm
heavy as the rain-soaked
sky.

Pilgrim

I knew that man
standing at the station

in his broad-brimmed hat
and his priest's frock coat.

I wanted to kiss him
once

before he was a pilgrim
in this place

where I alit briefly
to see him

leave in the gleaming
train to who knows where.