Poetry

lying on the beach

colleen Poetry , , ,

A memory of a beautiful morning on the Lennox beach protected from the sun but with sandy toes and a sandy pillow.

lying on the beach

in leafy-pandanus shade
a floppy summer hat
covers my face

and through its plaited fibres
sky shimmers purple-blue red and gold

ocean unaware of its charm
stretches languidly towards me
with a lullaby
my breath eavesdrops on its rhythm
warm sand pillows me
sifts between my toes

and i stay all morning
one with sand and sea and sky
being all this
it being all me

return of persephone

colleen Poetry , , , , ,

Persephone returns as promised and brings with her the spring, new life, new greening, new energy. As the myth goes Hades abducted her as a young girl and carried her down into the underworld. Her mother Demeter searched for her and by the time it was discovered where she was and demanded her return it was found she had eaten of the Pomegranate fruit, 6 seeds in all, hence Hades demanded his rights. It was decided Persephone would have to stay underground for half the year. Persephone returns for the other half bringing with her the spring and the earth flourishes with vegetation and colour. A poem written at dawn on the 1st of Spring was a joyful experience.

Persephone.

return of persephone

on a night-blue sea
still as lovers wrapped in slumber
persephone returns

a world is touched
handmaiden clouds stir

blush pulsate golden
on the edge of anticipation

the sea catches the moment
shimmers like ruffled satin

orange sand-dune clouds high above
hang on the moment

two in a canoe glide smoothly
dark and small on the ocean

an outboard putters
towards fishing grounds

flocks of gulls flash past
wings light up in their sweep

galahs flirt
magpies motif the dawn

flush of technicolour fires
dancing pomegranate-red
into an explosion of ecstasy

coastal walk

colleen Poetry , ,

The following poem coastal walk is the next poem in this section of A Call to Listen

The miracle of silk that we find spun and hidden on mulberry leaves .
So is the miracle of the beauty of rock formations from sand and silt and pebbles laid down, forming rock and then sculptured by the sea and wind sometimes violently like the betrayer and sometimes caressing like a lover.
As we walk from The Entrance Beach around past the baths we enjoy the rocky shelf and headland sculptured by the wind and water and tides. It is waved and striated and patinated and honeycombed and is a joy to the eye.

coastal walk

my eyes trace lines
that curve and swirl
track contours and circled altars
waiting their tide reunion
where only soft padded periwinkles
and sharp edged oyster shells venture
landscapes of sculptures composed
by the dreamtime of water wind and sand
a patterned mosaic
dioramas unfolding
like silken threads from a mulberry tree

each line each ripple
a stretch mark wrinkle scar
has its story

with the tide the ocean
rolls and thunders
sometimes her fingers
like talons scratch and claw
yet eternally patient
her hands caress
love and mould
soothe and soften the violent edges
touch the secret caverns
and with each tide seduce a little more

maybe salacia

colleen Poetry , , , , , ,

salacia

The following poem maybe salacia in A Call to Listen was chosen for the Central Coast Poets Inc 2014.
I was invited to read my poem at the launch and was fortunate to be able to do so.
My sister Kay Ward who lives on the Central Coast was present, my husband and my Grandson Lachlan Keating. An exciting day.

maybe salacia

she walks the beach
scanning shells on the edge
in a loosely tied sarong
hair swept up under a wide brim hat
face lined with many lifetimes

fishermen and sailors nod and smile
sea gulls rummaging along the shore hardly notice

she walks barefoot on the sea-soaked sand
tracing the waving wrinkled water mark
bites of the winter sea at her toes

she bends to receive tumbled gifts
golden whelks, salty periwinkles
spindled limpets black neuritis spotted voluted cowries

some say she listens to the music of the sea
others say she’s a drifter
or perhaps
an artist living her art
a poet living a poem
some say she belongs to the deep
maybe goddess of the sea

now and then she gazes out
to where the sea and sky converge
as if she yearns
to slip between the sentinels of crashing waves
to her home beyond

sunflowers

colleen Poetry , , ,

p3summ

sunflowers

imagine walking along a noisy street
mind twirling like a wind blown chime
enter a parkland
where even your footsteps
are absorbed by the grass

find yourself like alice shrunk in wonderland
before a field of sunflowers
with dawning faces like a thousand spinning suns
fanfare of rusted gold
dressed lavishly in green

watch them turn a slow liturgical dance
to follow the sun
and be amazed

busily as is their destiny
nectar for bees
seeds rowed up in lines for birds

then stand scarred weather-worn
to their last crumble crunched
dried up life cycle

they have no desires
only lush beauty
and their moment in time

The poem above was inspired by a writers retreat in Toowoomba at Lyn and Rick B & B when over the road in the gardens the Sunflowers were at their full glory beckoning me to join with all the other poets and artist and musicians and find words to continue their glory

dawn

colleen Poetry , , , ,

p4summ

This is the next poem in A Call to Listen . It is the second poem in the third section Treading Water.  

dawn

her night gown falls
she opens for the majesty
of morning
her young maiden blush
fills the sky

the ocean
delights
with a shimmering smile

on the headland
a poet
like a lover
gazes in awe
ponders her beauty
and grapples for words

treading water

colleen Poetry , , ,

p4summ

The poem I share with you today comes from the third section of
my Poetry Anthology A Call to Listen.

This section called Treading Water consists of 13 poems mainly about the ocean, about dawn light and birds of the sea and lake.

Out the window which we call The Big Picture Window is the ocean, and Karangi Point. About three hundred meters further out is a reef of rock which the locals call The Bombora. It is a popular spot for fishing boats, deep sea divers, spear fishermen and of course flocks of Sea Gulls and Oyster Catchers.

On this day the sea was rather rough and the little boat out there bobbing up and down kept disappearing rhythmically behind the waves.

I was touched by the beauty of light and walked down onto the sand to be part of the scene. Enjoy this favourite poem of mine which is also, by the way, a 2015 award winning poem.

treading water

there is a touch of the transcendent
on the horizon today the sky spreads
like the sound of a symphony and shadows
the deep slate of sea with its surge
of rolling energy tufts of crested foam
and sweeps of spindrift thrown in the air
like hands of praise

out there crouches a small grey boat
bobbing in and out of view
a sea snail with its feelers up poised

maybe fishermen or divers near the hidden reef
maybe sailors to catch the coloured winds of the dawn
i do not expect to know more

ebb tide the hollowed waves
like hungry mouths gulp
stretch languidly to the edge
lull like the pause between briny breaths
then recede

on the shoreline of my mind
thoughts tread water
more lonely than the boat on that slate-grey sea
as my footprints meld with the tide
back home i continue
to stream a shelf of diaries

in the clouds

colleen Poetry , , , , ,

clouds.

This poem came from a bit of fun we had on the first day I used my new Apple laptop. I wrote for a while and when I pushed save it went directly to the cloud.
‘O no ‘ i laughed . . . I rushed onto the balcony there was the big beautiful sky, cloudless. Then I had some fun writing the following:

in the clouds

as a child i loved to lie on grass
see shapes in clouds
i still see feathers and angels

as a poet i have dreamt of clouds
marshmallow at sunset
cauliflower by day
ruffled at dusk

on my new mac air
i compose the first draft of a poem
push save
and it goes to icloud

then the panic sets in
i rush outside
except for a tiny airbrush
cloudless

should have done this yesterday
when there was a swarm of clouds
yet there was fog then
surely thats not ideal

this would only be reliable
if we lived under a cloud
far too gloomy for me

some say i have my head in the clouds
maybe
i would like to live on cloud nine
but that’s not good for a writer

sometimes on the horizon
i see a cloud-bank
but no-one trusts banks today
i know we have cloudbursts especially in summer
what will happen to my poem then

maybe icloud beclouds the issue

cumulus although poetic are unstable
glinting cirrus are too high and made of crystal
nimbus would serve the purpose thick and grey
but stratus are soft and luxurious
my poem would swoon curled up there

my grandchild

colleen General, Poetry , , ,

Becoming a grandparent is a special experience. I have written lots of poetry about my grandchildren.
This is the first and only poem in this Anthology
A Call to Listen. However i am hoping to gather them all up at some time and put them together for the family. Some of you will relate to the sentiment in my grandchild

my grandchild

gathered up
in my arms
warm and snuggled
is my grandchild

a tiny hand reaches out
to explore my nose
it grasps my glasses
my earrings fascinate

eyes shine with curiosity
smile with delight
laughter is bountiful
and this tiny warm body melts me

i whisper it is a beautiful world
and it is

yet in the background
i know it too is a troubled world

my eyes mirror a world of love
and i hold this precious baby ever closer

rainy day woman

colleen Poetry ,

I stood outside a small intimate Art Studio in Roseville, waiting to meet a friend to share a meal and movie.
A painting in the window, caught my imagination.
I hope these words capture the beauty and mystery of my experience.

rainy day woman

oil paint drizzles
down a canvas
raining over
brushed collaged skin
alabaster
nuanced buff pink

a softly curving body
lies naked across a bed
open
a sacred text

orange cushions
luxuriate around her

chin rests on bent arm
fingers pensively
touch a lower lip

eyes
lowered
hold her mystery