It is the weight of the heat that I struggle to bear
a relentless oppressiveness that burns my skin
I am surrounded by its stillness its density
dehydration works from the outside in
my surface is sweaty gritty debris
constant exposure is to wither
and shade is no relief
at 48 degrees the sun
robs me of my water
a remorseless thief
I meet her every Sunday morning
we have two cups of tea
I haven’t been sure why I go
but she seems to like to see me
I guess it’s because she’s lonely
and I’m the only one left around
with any sort of connection to her
for her it’s a pretty empty town
she always puts a face on
and she has two types of tea
would I prefer black or green?
a nice gesture
but it’s all the same to me
maybe a couple of biscuits?
shortbreads or Chocolate Royals
artfully presented on a floral plate
immediately after the kettle has boiled
we start with a chat about the weather
during the previous week
we could talk about it forever
but actually that’s not why we meet
she was ninety last December
you wouldn’t know it though
all her friends and rellies dead and gone
I guess that makes my visits a special sort of show
me, her brother’s son’s son
I didn’t even know we were related
until she called me on the phone
she said she had something to give me
since her nephew was now also gone
I was hesitant, but I went around
choosing right from wrong
and we seemed to settle into a pattern
after great great grandad’s medals she passed on
it’s interesting I guess hearing about her life
and she asks about mine too
I think she wants to check
I’m not in any strife
she was in a war too you know
New Guinea
at the bottom of the Kokoda Trail
a young nurse waiting for injured soldiers
she has lots of horror stories to tell
and many that make me smile
one day she let on one of those soldiers was her dear oldest brother
he didn’t make it to the hospital tent
she told me he was dead by the time they got him down
she says the world lost a rascal and a gent
he’d been stabbed in the stomach and hit by a round
the Japanese bayonet wound went septic
they gave her a morning off to grieve and to see his body sent
she became a union activist after the war was over
the women had been doing the “men’s” work
but when the men returned working women were just seen as a bother
she saw her job as helping women stand up for what was right
she really was a pioneer, one with great foresight
however, she was largely a teacup without a storm
still she spoke out and fronted for the fight
even though inequality again became the norm
she says the women had proved their worth
yet society again reverted to the patriarchal curse
nonetheless she says she has never been bitter
just encouraged to try harder for more jobs and equal pay
sad she says though
that equal pay for women is still not a reality today
she has outlived her husband and three children now
sometimes she talks about them sadly
then she always perks up when she asks
if she can recount their quirks and talents
so I learn ever more about them quite gladly
my parents are divorced and always hostile and angry
consequently I don’t want to see them much
however I do sometimes wonder if they ever talk about me
with such a loving parental touch?
I tell her about my partner and my favourite things in life
she listens intently to my prattling and often offers up good advice
come to think of it I kind of like it
this tea for two with my great aunt
in fact I can’t think of a better way to spend a Sunday morning
if I’m honest I really can’t.
All work is my own unless otherwise stated. I do not use AI.
I wake at 4 in the morning
in the small hours
when small things matter
and ideas can repeat in your brain
taking on more significance than they deserve
eroding your ability to unwind
like a tap dripping in the next room
but not this morning
this morning it is soft rain I hear
gently tinkling on the metal
of the carport roof outside
it is warm under the covers
I feel secure
as your soft regular breathing resumes
after you roll onto your side next to me
was it an interrupted dream?
I like not knowing everything that goes on in your head
after all these years you can still surprise me
I snuggle up to your back
and rest my forehead between your shoulder blades
as I contemplate what it is to be us
your heels settle into the angle of my ankles
your calves align with my shins
your thighs mold to mine
and your backside schmoozes deliciously into my groin
I raise my head to create more space
so I can wrap my arms around you
pulling your upper body into mine
as my arms embrace your warmth
I soak up your textures
I draw in your smell
with my eyes closed
I sense every point at which we touch
I feel our body rhythms synchronise
as my muscles relax
and my mind smiles
with the intimate pleasure
of as much body contact as we can muster
I savour the moment
as peaceful sleep reclaims me
For today’s dVerse Poetics, Sanaa asked we poets to write a poem about love as something quietly sacred — not just roses and hearts, but the small, unseen ways. A confession upfront, I wrote this poem for my wife years ago. It remains one of my favourites and I thought it fitted the prompt so well I just had to repost it. FYI, this poem still speaks the truth. My darling, I love you.
The last time I saw my mother she sent me a kiss across the void. Two fingers touched her puckered lips, then cast into the air was a kiss at the mercy of the stiff breeze blowing everyone’s hats away. Was I meant to catch it? I have never really been sure. One reason was it appeared to be barely cast in my direction, the other was that she was in fact looking at her new husband as her hand regally flicked yet another token on another impossible journey of placation. She, number three plus stupid yappy little dog were on a boat to somewhere. Ten year old me? I was left standing on the dock unaware somewhere meant this was our last almost acknowledgement of each other. One thing I learnt that day to believe forever is lips forget what they have kissed.
For today’s dVerse 144 word prosery challenge, Mish chose the following line from Toni Morrison’s evocative poem, “Eve Remembering”. “Lips forget what they have kissed.” Besides writing eleven novels, five children’s books, two plays and an opera, Toni was the author of “Five Poems“, first published in 2002. You can read them here (well worth a read). I chose to respond to the challenge with a work of flash fiction that hits the 144 word sweet spot precisely.
All work is my own. I do not use AI.
The morning was full of parrots
They clambered over chairs
many perched amongst the maples
and through the windows they did stare
their incessant voices calling
their colours deep and and bright
I wondered how long they had been there?
had they been out there all night?
it was bedlam on the verandah
it was getting messy on the deck
all so they could have a gander
the new occupants they came to check
would we feed them like they were used to?
or leave them to their own means?
were they welcome to visit regularly?
or was that just a parrot dream?
I met a hungry echidna
with spiky spines all over I’m not kiddin’ ya
it flicked its tongue from its beak
for the ants it did seek
you thought I was kiddin ya, didn’t ya?
Half an hour
one forty eighth of each day
should be consistently allocated to the following practice
should be consistently adhered to at the expense of all other things
the undertaking of regular exercise
no matter what your age
this is a good use of your time
such that the time that is left to you
may well be longer
‘so the peloton passed’ by Simon Armitage
If I breathed the word that disappeared all people in the world
leaving the world
to the world
would you say it?
would you sing it out loud?
'the word' by me (quite the coincidence)
If I quietly secretly speak to you the word of enchantment that can depopulate the entire planet of humankind
would you speak it loud to the wind that it would blow across every landscape cleansing the earth with its gusting breath,
would you set it free to ride the thermals such that it spirals up and down remixing balance into a newly fresh and transparent sky,
would you let it dive into the depths and immerse itself below the waves and placid surfaces of every body of water to de-litter and detoxify every single liquid drop?
would you mourn the loss of your brothers and sisters so that biodiversity can flourish and evolve uncorrupted once again?
would you speak such a word of power to return the world to Gaia, to Mother Nature’s control in the absence of every man and woman?
do you want to know that word?
will I tell it you?
will you speak it?
will you?
No?
Then I will.
Houses want speaking
From their roofs tales are leaking
They pass through the ceilings
Into the rooms
Drip down the walls
Pool on the floors
To flow under the doors
To listeners they are seeking
I had a chance to do something good
someone was hurting so I thought I would
unusual for me cos I often lie or cheat
I don’t usually care much as long as the outcome my aims will meet
but for the first time I recognised true love and how a new outcome could be
more important than winning than more money more important than me
so I did something strange associated with feelings of anxiety and stress
unlike some others who willingly clean up another’s mess
likely easier for them because they’ve often been generous
likely harder for little me because generous is onerous
but truly I gave up a wish to seize yet another opportunistic chance
to benefit from another’s love lost by tragedy and mischance
so I gifted a stolen memento of deep love and romance
instead of using emotional blackmail for richer personal finance
ask yourself as I do what is the future for a con man like me
watch this space and watch your wallet to discover what you will or will not see
My poetry will die with me
It will not be a painful death
Just one that runs out of breath
In death
I learn of my father’s life
apparently a generous man
personable, sharing, reliable, a trusted friend
naive to human machinations, a happy and ever optimistic giver
he laughed in company with good humour and genuine pleasure
he aspired to making life better for people
when he met with individuals they felt his sincere interest and care
when they needed him he was always there
he encouraged others to act on their talent and supported them in becoming their very best
he encouraged them to think clearly be confident in their every quest
and so I now know my father better
alas, only in illness and death did we finally come together
poetography.ink 