Poems

To make bread

I sift flour into a warm basin

My fingers drip silken gloves
        then scoop a hollow
                for yeast
crumbled from its sloth

Imbibing nectar it buds
        microscopic chaos
Bubbles celebrate renewal

Stern salt sprinkled at the edges
        cannot spike
the jubilation

I knead the dough into compliance
        fingers coaxing
                    knuckles punishing
until heat smooths the evidence

bakes a holey sacrifice

 

The four of us

seem strangely large
strung across the footpath
like warning signs in this doll's village
where midget memories sidle by
hugging the fence line

We've paused in picking over the old home
found yellowed satin shoes    an old mincer
a poison pen letter    Fourteen van loads
consigned to the tip to be picked over
by sea gulls

From interiors air brushed by our father
in pale rainbow colours
we've emerged into a June Landscape
of faded Arkley exteriors cowering
behind high cypress hedges

Three brothers and a sister
bound together by ghostly shackles
we amble to lunch at shops spawned
like garish toadstools from the rich
humus of their ancestors

Conversation skims lightly
over quicksands then back to salvage duty
Like Alice on drinking the magic potion
our elbows and knees keep blocking
the cupboards and corners

poet's biography ->