Three Poems

Plea for a flotation

Magnus’s melon seeds float
on dark and weighty
tomes of pond. 

Only a sampan built to withstand
a resurrection
(that troubling symbol) will do. 

We have pilchards at tea-time,
with bread roses
and the sod of rusks. 

Far and away the barrier-reef fills
with ballerinas, their
tendonitis and stubbed toes. 

And you, in possession of rusticity
and rude edges. It will kill
us all if you choose not to live.




My fictional Jane

Tried to O! you, exclaimed you, created you
savage. Un-idle extremist, I made you a nub of cool,
a sand goddess, eave maid, de-futured,
deliberately brave and inconquerable.
You, shining lonester, immune to
shocking quiet, stark lines,
no human leafings. You are there
withstanding a bloom
of ice at your throat. You are
complete, you are unreal.




Tiny Nudist Colony

No wells for bush fires and all these wasps
that hell must hummer with,
            their untimed flight,
            their sacrilegious gold. 

            Such heat on the hill, I came down here:
green crook of rock pool,
                        spry grass trenches,
                        free-thinking animals.

Your fish – in a weedy world – they are yours aren’t they?

I am in the business of eating apricots nakedly –
            you see.
All the times I sit here
            I am treating you seedy. Stone stripped from flesh
and dunked in the brine.

Lobsters communicating! Have them. 

Dried salted limbs! Take them.