Showing posts with label birds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birds. Show all posts

Monday, June 18, 2012

supposition


the air is surely thick
with the ghosts of birds

the air is surely coloured by arc and swoop
clouded by song and call

the earth is surely syruped
with birdblood

the earth is surely torn by talon and beak
and made ragged with soft feathers

the air is surely heated by their falling
and carcasses must nest

in the cool earth.
     and with every breath

most surely,  the ghosts
of birds

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

origami



these words
we fold into ourselves
from the broad sheet of all possible words.

these words
we unfold at night
on a tatami mat of  breath.

behind fragile
walls we fold
into each other.













Here.  Listen.
a thousand paper cranes
take flight -






.


Sunday, April 8, 2012

foucault's pendulum


the Huma bird
(may its shadow touch us)
      it is said, once it has
taken to flight
      will not

alight

     until at last it must
fall
     back



              to
        the rocks which bore it.

no perch
no roost
no tuck of
                            head
           beneath

wing


foucault's pendulum

completes no circles
 
it is the earth that moves.





Wednesday, October 12, 2011

gull



into a stiff wind
your impossible still smoothness
and those blades

those blades

with all their small twists, all their
twistings

















Wednesday, August 17, 2011

it started so simply

i thought i'd let you all out

for a bit of a scratch around the garden.
the odd grub or worm.
maybe increase the egg yield.

now you get yourselves up in the morning
and put yourselves to bed at night.
i don't bother with the gate
and the six-foot fence
is no obstacle.

but yesterday
when i came home
i saw one of you walking down the footpath.

i'd swear you had your purse
tucked under your wing
and were off down the shops
for twenty Rothmans

and a head of cabbage.

and the neighbours are talking.



.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

currawong ('ku)

is there anything sweeter
than the song of a currawong
full of the sound of its last kill?

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

september song




go to sleep.
draw the paintshades

down across your rivet eyes

go to sleep.
fold your bullseye head
under your switchblade wing

go to sleep.
let sweet lips of infant pity
kiss your kerosene tears away

go to sleep.

dream of flying.




dream of flying.