The Storm (for Natty Cayla)

Born older than your young years

Words formed like bubbles

Glass like, shattering grown up throat clearing silences

Four letter syllables, unprecedented quotes

“ Archaeologist”

“Antagonize”

A mind filled with water words from an unknown source

Light, pure water filled cavities of words.

The storm came to your world of words

 In a darkening moment, swarmed by other faces and their words

“Stop, naughty, mine, and mine”

The noises circled your head like a hurricane

Sweeping, drowning away all your beautiful tapestry sentences

Until you were left emptied out and silent

Unable to even spit out a three word call for rescue

“Take    me     home.”

Jewels

You loved shiny jewels as a child

Beads and bracelets, most of all rings

You bought them weekly with saved money

They are all you have left behind here

Ringing in my mind.

You wore them to cover scars

To cover self hatred

To cover lies,

To cover the past

Glittering, masking the unknown secrets

They are all you have left behind here

Ringing in my mind.

So, I write words to you there

To shine in your head,

To dance around your dark dreams

Like jewels, crystals of thoughts

Necklaces of prayers, beads of sounds

They are all I can leave behind here

Ringing in your mind.

Chambers

Not deep beneath the surface of the earth

holding gems the dwarfs  mine, treasures

but tall bookcases

and smells.

The smell of leather

older

the smell of deep carpet

the smell we attached to the watercooler and the plastic cups

the smell, of multicoloured Smarties in a wooden bowl

on his desk

the smell of porcelain dolls

neatly preserved with matching shoes and hats

taken out, cautiously,

scented with books and museum curate awe

on our long awaited Sunday visits.

to Pritchard Street.

Without you

The child view of the horizon
is like a half moon
caught in a sombre sky
unaware of the light of it's full capacity.

Arrival

In the shadow of a suitcase

the map starred, stars calling

back

heart beating

back

history calling

back

darkness, leaving no stain, calling

back

the shadows of the memory

the breathing of the forest

the heating of the rocks

have uttered the heartbeat,

beckoning

come back.

Listen

To those
who tell me that a little child
cannot see the far away letters
on your shining testing machines
that she needs expensive wait your turn specialists
in the streets with fixed statistics and incomes
when
most of the children in this country are
swollen bellied hungry,
vitamin deficient,
smoking drinking beating parents
careful
put your head down
the drums are beating

to those
who tell me that a little child
must please put back the books
in the squeaking clean bookshop
full to capacity with expensive coloured books
she is disturbing the system
when
most of the children in this country
will most likely never have their own coloured book
waiting for the non arrival of a text book
learning under strikes and limited light
eyes strained
walking far to buses and lifts in the dirt
careful
put your head down
the drums are beating

the dividing line is cracking
the dividing line, is cracking.

For Ashlee

Another night
another fright
in the hour without witnesses
where, in the hot breath pillow indentation
do your dreams go?
bits and pieces, what we wore
a letter to Father Christmas
a favourite walk on the dust dirt road
blinked out
blinked in, under stars
swallowed down, the First Picture Book of Poetry
as the nausea creeps closer
the puppet show monster
the world through the wrong side of a daylight telescope