Soft sand The place where High tide won't reach Just shy of ebb Flow two-way Discourse between Land and sea Both outreached Like lovers arms Drink each other in Lying on her shores
Soft sand Mounds where Terns lay over Tender feet walking On eggshells Deliberate delicate New life born In harsh climes Resilient
Soft sand Free from damp and cold Nestled in reedy banks Hiding darting beaks Succulents and more Barely moving an inch The sea slowly rises But never touches For fear to wash away all
Soft sand Tender toes march in Treasured not owned No houses built to dwell This place is sacred Defended and protected Barefoot tiptoe around Lost coins, watches Wallets and keys Gravitate there with ease Generous offerings to The space where Bronze bodies Curves held form Find ease and release Respite for an hour Then depart
Love that comes And leaves Yet always returns
Warm soft sand Where I land In the wintry recess Of my mind Until next time Sifting fingers Falling through Return to dunes Pure and refined Fine
North Bruny Island, D’entrecasteux Channel, lutruwita / Tasmania
Your every word Tossed about gently Like lost garments In the night On the deck Of a ship at storm Trip hazard But loved once worn In the daylight As the anchor Finds safe habour Among living creatures Seeking safety Searching sea bottom For friends and tidbits Till bottomless glass Tilts no more I set sail again Longing horizon Begs me for more
Elizabeth Pier, nipaluna / Hobart, lutruwita / Tasmania
Teasing a whisper trail Covering over a lifetime He said, she said Cellists make good lovers As she hugs her legs Round the portly shape Smooth timbre of hips Vibrating sullenly As boozy fingers Re-member how to be When eyes hone in Expectantly These beams come down Onto me from the sky A place I can never climb So I evacuate from The bottom rung Sink my toes into Mounds of moss Lichen it grows On me like you Hidden shape teases Behind a silk wave Hiding her face When I try to take Her picture
Her face rides out front Body carved by artisan Not a live one steps foot Lest to say farewell Till return to homeland Her likeness revealing The love of artist heart Like a woman of dreaming Unreal onboard Writing home to her Every single day Or some piece to hold onto As tide carries me away
Carved wooden piece from Svenor’s figurehead, wrecked Newcastle 1914. Donor Alistair Gibson. ~ Maritime Museum of Tasmania
Thoughts crowded out Like street nights Festival lights Extinguished Past midnight Holding open space Reflecting on Disappointments Celebrations alike No way to put My finger on it Taint with print Hot to touch Can't switch it off Bask in its glow Round the clock Source metered out In the dark Enlightening Tales tools of trade Our words live on
Showering rain opens Fallen of yesterday Buried in layers Soaking in ready For new openings Rising again A new green shoot Fresh and bare Untouched Sensitive to grazing Unfurled plentiful Placeholders populate Hold on to precious Earth newly nourished To cover over through The dawning years
Cast off accoutrements Don dancing shoes Second summer echoes Through wine bars Breweries Trees on second wind Greening the byways Good cheer pouring Positive meniscus Sips. Smile. Sit back. Breathe. Too much goodness Enough to leave the crust The best is yet to come love this... Enough to last the year
A magic carpet ride Source lost and found Some foreign bazaar Where incense, spice And turkish delights Feast your eyes From afar Friends call out From way below 'Get down from there You'll hurt yourself!' Then tell them 'I don't care' For a vision Laid out in front Shows me As far as only Mine eye Can see
Slip back into this Young person No longer little ones Walking sleeping Puppies Big ones Greetings by The cadence of feet Percussive Keeping us all moving To the same beat Just to be Long moments With each of us
Count the stars of heaven 