the drums

the drums

The sea coming in here…

The ‘drums’ are heard this end….

come evening
at full tide the
waves boom
and boom in
the concrete pipe
an arm’s span
across that
takes in
the sea
heard that
other end
where the pipe
opens into
the creek
drumming up spirits
on dark dark
skins tuned anew
each stroke
giving you pause

bucolic

bucolic

from the small
white clouds
crowding the
spring sky
at noon
a downward
flitter-flutter
of joy to
the ear
a lark
on the wing
near the pylons
of dangerous
voltage the
piebald yearlings
with mascaraed
eyes chewing
it over that
paddock over,

body

body   

Acknowledgements to the creator of this image for its use

you have   a   s k i n fu l  of it /  the smell   day hid
leaves   r e me m b e r
on   the   e v e n i n g .   it    r I s e s
like     the  d ark   from flowers.

you’ve   shrunk    to a distant  cool   that   s k i n f u l

of   r a i n   you  held closed    at the
shoulders   this morning   /  a  stone
taken   full under   the flow of mind   that would break   the surface
were it  to  e a s e  /  cause
speech.
the   r a i n   collapsing
on  the   a i r   no strength