Held

I held my breath.

Hold still you said.

Hold your thoughts I said, while I
hold out hope.
I held your tongue and held
in my stomach 
holding hard
beliefs that would not hold water.

I was held on to, held down to,
held my head high and kept
holding
out for hope.

It didn’t hold up.

I held back.
I held off.

I tried to hold my own,
it didn’t
hold together
you held my hand.

Hold it tight.

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Part 1

Less apart than before yet not altogether together.

Picked apart
Pulled apart
Put to parts.

Partly

due to the desire to be put together.


A partness.

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written but spoken




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Reading together in the park.


we   are   sat   folded  up,

around a fake tartan  rug.


With sky on my mind a crow from beyond the tree answers my thoughts


“ some one was telling me a story about a crow visiting…… was that you? ”

“ no,                    it was you, wasn’t it? ”

                                                                      “ or was it you? ”

and back again.


I know the story; I have many of those stories but this story wasn’t mine.



Masahisa Fukase came and sat with me and opened his book.
A solitude of ravens flew out.
I see his wife’s face, share her image with the others.


Max Porter gifts feathers for tears.

                 “ a mother gave this to me   ” she says reading from the pages

    “ it’s weird, made me think of you  ”

                                                                      “ thankyou, I am honoured  ” and I feel it.

Max brings a theatre of words and gods for us to play out our fears.


The one with sky for eyes shares poetry exchanged with a grandfather,
the shape of the numbers not yet kneaded into the bread of the self.



      “ how do your new numbers feel? ”

                                                                      “ I have not had time to consider them ”

                                                                      “ I will place question marks in future windows ”



The tree
has a long branch with leaves as feathers that caress and
play with me
all afternoon.
It   becomes      part of me,       part of my hair ,
I am a wing.    tethered.     re- named as crow.



“ Feel to be free ” she reads from the words

                                                          held in her hands

                                                                       given to her by Audre, as we lie on our backs

                                                                       on     the    ground    to    hear     her       better.

                                        

A butterfly lands on the grass with a flash of orange
                                                                                for courage.


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

laughing in a stone ear

The words don’t make sense they said.
Mouths stayed open and ate my silence.
I stared back and felt my emptiness.
Long ears listening.
All the better to ignore you with my dear.

Why are you here?
What do you know?
Why are you not certain?

Walk with stronger words and decide.
Stop your softness  -  it is making me uncomfortable.

I held the apple between my fingers
And presented my knowledge.
My hands were empty they said.

Where are your hands?
Why are your feet bare?
Do you not know what you are?

The words were too hard to be heard.
The words didn’t make sense they said.

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Halepa 21


Turn left at the gate
for the grocer
for the peaches that smell like summer
for lovely Socrates and Gina in the restaurant with the food displayed behind the window
                                                                                                                        that tastes like memories
for the baker with the spinach pies that haunt my day dreams
for the oleander lined pavement
for the smell of washing powder from the neighbour’s
                                                                   basement laundry.



Turn right at the gate
for the supermarket
for a souvlaki
for coffee and ice-cream
for the jasmine vine that catches
                                            in my hair
for the way to town.



At night turn left at the gate and
walk further
to the square
to the mulberry trees
to rum and ice
and a bowl of chips
to the company of Rossi
the stray with a name.

Even at night            mulberry leaf shade is cool.

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Today’s songlist as remedy.
Vespers for a new dark age: 1. Wayward free radical dreams.
Double speak.
Threads: 1. Prelude
Duet for heart and breath.
The rocket builder.

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