the garden

golden gates
cut throat pools, precise
always hazy
reverie and drums
switchblade grass
clear waters, mirrors
sleeve drifts
the sunrise, reflections
losing focus
pouring more wine
sweet rhythms
trees, cherub fountains
soft sight
wondering, dreaming

My Earliest Memory, A Nightmare.

The sound of stomping outside,
where is everybody? what’s happening?
a steady marching sound, why?
A woman crawls out of the TV,
she chases me into the kitchen,
under the table I try to hide,
“What have you done with my mum?”
She laughs, no one else is in the house.

The ground is shaking, thudding,
they’re still marching, why?
Slate grey, giants of stone, a mile high,
an army in our garden, but why?
Left, right… left, right, left!
One of them reaches down,
ripping the roof away and staring in,
breaking rank for a moment
to look me in the eye.

The Dream Of The Children Who Jump Like Salmon

Their parents had to flee their country,
they all had their reasons.
Viewing this event I’m ignorant,
I’ve never seen anything quite like it.
They waited at the dock for the children to arrive,
a steam boat returning across the waters.

They only had five minutes
before the authorities became aware.
The children are not allowed on this land,
their boat was spotted way off in the distance.
Hearts bleed and throats scream,
reaching their arms down over the railings.

Overcome with joy the children jumped in
and swam up the dock.
What happened next I simply cannot explain,
it can only described for it was beyond me.
The children leapt up out of the water
and grabbed onto their parents arms.

Hoisted up and embraced with metal in between them,
thier little feet dangled many metres above the water.
They hung on for as long as possible
before they lost their grip and fell back into the salt water.
With only moments to spare they leapt back into their arms,
condensing all their love into words into minutes.

The boatman blew a whistle violently,
the wailing became unbearable as they parted.
The children who jump like salmon swam back,
not knowing if or when they’ll see their parents again.
They drifted off silently into the night
and their parents disbursed quickly before the police arrived.

Standing confused and stunned I was questioned,
I tried asking why the children couldn’t enter the country.
Giving descriptions as vague as possible, blamed on the fog
they left me alone to investigate the incident.
I cried as I walked away, why was I there?
there was no reason to be there at midnight in the first place.

The way the children had leapt up,
the way their parents could only hold them there.
Why was it illegal for them to set foot on land?
Why had they fled without their children?
The pavement is now covered in morning dew,
I must have been walking all night.

Axe Grip

Your blue thumb nail
and painted face,
dancing moonshine breath.
Porch dreams
your hands wander,
stop touching me never let me let go.
cigarette echoes,
lost between my legs.
Axe grip used,
hay bale nightmares,
face down,
next time the back seat.
morning sun touched,
screamed hoarse,
half left.