Soap Bubbles

I am tired of the world

all it's blue and green ways

filled with the have's

walking on the have not's

children with curious eyes

behind pulled curtains

peek out to find their place

while the adults play

at knowing.

Still

so many unpopped bubbles float

up from the dirty laundry -

summer rain on a tin roof

a smitten girl filled with smile

swirl of tadpoles in a puddle

sink of sponge moss on the sole

to lie in bed at noon knowing

everyone is scurrying to get

everything done that doesn't

need doing once it all begins

to end.

Furaden

Why do people poison lions?

They eat the cattle

The indigenous would kill

a lion

through rite of passage

to become a Man

and protect the cattle

now they are Lion Guardians

but now nobody new

understands poison danger

tradition and rite

and lions die

as do we.

The Box

I've run over it three times

it's sides unfolded exposing

cardboard emptiness -

a bit of tissue off to the side

that once held a gift.

Twice now, the box has caught

dragged along under the car

like a kid tailgating on an icey

winter street, but this time

there is no laughter.

I'm sure that little box has sat

there defiantly for over a week

ever since it spilled out from

one of the party bags

early last Sunday morning.

It doesn't matter if it disintegrates

fades or blows away. I won't pick

it up just as I won't clean the side-

board, hang up my clothes

or fix my fallen hem with anything

but a safety pin. Every little trail

leaves some evidence that I exist.

Drawers stuffed with poems, hair

in the sink, a cup rimmed with lip gloss.

Feel free to curse me when I am gone.

I am not home.

I am not home.

I have never been home.

elephants

in captivity live ninety

percent of their lives

tails joined in chains

Tomrrow, the Wind

An angel lies bent in the grass

hands folded across an oxidized chest

eyes painted shut to the chance

of being saved

amidst yellow daisies a broken spade

a pail of dying weeds

a sparrow feather in a footprint

in the garden at night

solar lights begin to share the gather

of their suns one by one they blink

will wink forever until there is no more

bright to fill flattened pockets with shine

A woman sits awkwardly, hands folded

across the orange of her dress

sweating into the day

sky blue begins to bundle up the clouds

trundling towards tomorrow -

the wind

What Light Remains in Absence

What Light Remains In the Absence
by Eoin Galvin

It is not the sound of the lights turning off
but the full silence of you and I at home,
not the shape of you in my arms
but the weight of you asleep,
not the bright, terrifying joy,
the burn and breech of us,
but what light remains in the absence
who I have become of us.

My Grandfather, Poplar Point

Lament

Show me the worm 

caught in a bird's beak

or the squirrel still twitching 

in the middle of the road 

while bloody tires 

revolve someone home -

I will show you the worm 

deep at work in the dirt

of a long abandoned farm

turning in continuance

of softening, cultivating

a soldier of the earth oblivious

to anything remotely human

or that the farm is empty, run -

down to nothing but old boards

license plates still nailed onto 

onto an old garage.   And you wonder

what the purpose is, why the farm

once stood proud - windows 

gleaming with fresh eyes

full with the thrill of reflection

green fields wet with dawn

PJ Harvey - One Line

Do you remember the first kiss?
Stars shooting across the sky
To come to such a place as this
You never left my mind

I'm watching from the wall
As in the streets we fight
This world all gone to war
All I need is you tonight

And I draw a line
To your heart today
'To your heart from mine
A line to keep us safe'

All through the rising sun
All through the circling years
You were the only one
Who could have brought me here

And I draw a line
To your heart today
'To your heart from mine
A line to keep us safe'

Super Slipper

Such things -

rolling through life

but not like when I was a kid

tumbling sideways down 

some grassy hill laughing

not a care in the world

in my little blue trench coat

eyes full of what was always

right there in front of me

Kim & Deb

Hope

Beats in our hearts

Her laughter

Reflected in our eyes

And her smile

Part of these lips

Will always be

Hope, Kim, Deb

Caught at 4:51

When it happened everything went

quiet and soft, as if to make her stop

and listen to the mute sun 

warming through brown silk 

printed large with white roses

blooming them a little fuller.

Nothing extraordinary in the passing

from one moment to the next - it all

happened in a click of life's finger snap

shifting her perspective slightly left

to a place where fences no longer stood.

A Mourning Dove trilled twice

as the wind moved a little quicker

tousling through her hair, intent 

on racing messages through the grass.

Something instinctive to that moment

drilled down tapping into her

with swift invisibility and she sprung

water over edges until she knew 

this time she was fully in love

with the music that had just played 

him into her.

I Crave Your Mouth

by Pablo Neruda

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,

your hands the color of a savage harvest,

hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

 

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

 

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

hunting for you, for your hot heart,

like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Cat Toss

I'm throwing all of my cats to the wind

flying fur, claws, teeth and bowls of food

water and everything that I thought 

they needed to survive.

Later on, tonight, all of my cats

will face off against one rattlesnake.

Tomorrow I will once again

face what I detest

up against a wall I may ask for 

one cigarette and a final meal -

My cats will soon learn -

it's all about survival.

- Debbie Calverley