Posts Tagged with Prose

There’s a certain shade
of teenage love
unlike any other
that time has to offer.

A passing flush
parades across the chest;
a formidable force
under the breast.

Heaving; heavy with
the weight of the First,
a confident uncertainty
of its own making
Sinking or Floating or Breaking
it becomes made.

A breathless vision;
here, well-hidden
in a canvas marred with age –
where vibrancy inevitably
has dried up like old paint
and succumbed slowly, under
silent fade.

Picture the seasoned lover
until the Last,
now warms with a pallet
of a predictable ensemble;
where a once-familiar hue
emerges as new.

Ah, the First –
a memory described
head-first deep-dive
into complete saturation,
summoned only in the tense
where once conquered all makings
now, washed from existence.

The Sun is a Sure Thing

Man is his own Master
with an ego fit to consume, believes
it’s his for the taking
Crafts the world to his liking
and shapes the future
with present fortunes.
The preservation of self
and the pursuit of luxury
(carelessly, selfishly)
He lives in the moment:
self-indulgent and blasé
In this life, this existence
He rules like a King
and commands many things-
But the Sun,
The Sun is a Sure Thing:
and guaranteed to win,
Every time.

And the Pretty Women warned 44

Cats on backs with saluting bellies
under the thrum of the cooler
Tiny bugs gather against the kitchen window,
window shopping.

A hallway fan distributing cool
Down the hallway
to westerly-facing bedroom
(or at least trying too)

Backup plan: clumsily dragged
the night before
to the vacant lounge room floor;
the spare mattress.

Mid-afternoon: a ferocious sky
Somewhere, not far-
Buzzing voltage cicadas: shi-shi-shi-shi

It happens before my eyes-
Browning lawn, curling leaves
while the roses sing, happily-
“Come at Me!”

Above: towering pine trees erupt
Screeching cockies- sounding outraged
Projectile missiles drop from every branch
and explode on impact.

The garden hose, this morning
bird bath freshly filled
for family enjoyment, the
Indian Myna and Maggies
in alternating shifts.

The roads quiet, melting bitumen
A neighbour’s car shimmers in the street
Deserted, a ready-oven:
Metal roof pops in the heat.

Back deck, tap dancing bare feet
I seek a small cast of shade
collect superfast superdry washing
Unceremoniously, rapidly, unpleasantly.

Hollow knock: an empty rasp
Give it a shake, listen-
the water tank with its
fast-disappearing lifeblood
evaporates out of existence.