Internal Weather

Poetry

 

 

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Cumulonimbus

These are the words we use when we

talk about how we are more than our bodies:

the terrestrial storms moving

beyond the immediate sky

 

heaping up and overthrowing the forecast

darkening with thick shadows,

bulking out wetness melt

in a song of vertical altitude.

 

Magpies umbrella fledglings with their feathers

as drops the size of rain

pelt the scape of the city’s ranges

a fine tantrum rendition.

 

How small are the beginnings?

Trigger neck bristle, the empty heart pump

forks to break the massive sky into segments

eggshell crazed and painful,

 

showing us we are chick small – from blue egged

nesting – needing the time for feathers

to alter ourselves into bird bomb razor;

to become weather itself.

Nefelibata – Cloudwalker

Uncategorized

She is there on the cumulous

white light crisp like promises of rain

further from the sky where she wanders

at the break between shadow and its other.

There are wisps around her,

the credible tremble, the hunt onwards

for the next possible, the lightning strike

the storm in the space she breathes, there.

She moves in on wind gust, balancing on cloud-thread

like that, a dervish or a spindle, a whirring

the woolly pillow of cloud into the long drops

the watery light falls through her fingers.

The ribbed pattern of the wind is the brush of her fingers.

The long stroke of the sky

meditation of dropping, the luxurious water.

Albatross

Poetry

now, looking down

we feel the stunt of our own bones

these thick limbs grown on the ground –

yours taper : made of wind,

sea air – the stuff of storms

wheeling over white caps

their own colour exposed

 

your head drowses now,

the last lick of high tide:

beak breastbone wingspan

larger than life

one foot gone

feather mounted

straight onto bone

 

what once was

fishing rising in the updraft

life far from the

circle of nest egg

clack of mother’s beak

the streak and wonder of flight

 

now we take ourselves

away from your washed

torn wet sand pressed form

even though we have

so many questions

to ask you

children turn away now

time to go.