Writing

 

[Writing]

 

stand behind this line

that goes to the end of the current day

even as you fall asleep

 

this line of early enquiry

buoyed by pure wakefulness

exercising excitement unstopped

 

this line sent to earlier selves

whatever it is friends say when friends

getting it right or wrong

 

this is the line you’ve got

whether you keep it or not

highlight, alter, or blot

 

this be the line you sign

never knowing where it’ll end, the need

the silence of the reader

 

stand behind this line

where top speed pulls in to a stop

and a door opens

 

this is that certain line?

wanting to say everything heeded

saying this thing and that

 

the line of reflection

timed to perfection

stuttering with inflections

 

stand behind this line

a place impossible to define

either the mess or the design

 

the line where the story begins

the one you thought you forgot

give it your best shot

 

line that could be a want

line of high velocity wind and sun

line that is a wound

 

stand behind this line until

you come to a complete standstill

please wait for further announcements

 

this line on this very platform

you arrived at just on time

or so it appears, in the din

 

stand to attention, at ease

rest behind this line, contemplate

sometime where the line came from

Ant

 

[Ant]

 

wobbling ant afoot in sunlight

is our perception, toppling over pebbles

carting home lunch on its back

 

while closeup itsy’s procession

shows a nobly forward figure

of elegant ant manoeuvres

 

all day might be spent watching

the focussed, industrious ant

but attention must go on to other things

 

the Italian poet says his ant

nudges the dried leaf across pathways

hospitable to wayfarers

 

gauging, after consideration,

that solipsism is not ant’s forte

and never will be

 

while here at home the ant

makes circular micro-heaps

between the brickwork to the compost

 

scurrying the hard yards

between heatwave objectives

and the underground cool of ant

 

which it will do alone, or in queues,

forming opinions in our minds

ant does not wait to hear

 

out of sight out of mind

with an ant it seems, at first glance,

one day much like another

 

though another and then another

ant is ant’s day through summer

or so it seems in this heat

 

the Italian perceives ants

as an army at drills

but then he lived through two world wars

 

negotiating looks like squabbling

from this height:

ants like order, but this looks like chaos

 

the atlas in their heads

thousands of words never said

instead, the abstract dance of ants

 

scores circle a billabong of droplets

lying on a concrete pathway

the permanent thirst of ants

 

yet at the first scent of death

ants change their travel plans

shouldering the remains for burial

 

bitsy ants busy their trails

out and into their megacity

pretty labyrinths below nondescript earth

 

that will do them well for the winter

free of the birds

ants alive with memories of sunlight

 

scent is their language

touch that turns command to alert

in the seconds it takes ants to act

 

we might consider ants for hours

as we would a book of Times New Roman

black figures that up and scurry   

 

pages and pages of ant-size words

living concrete poetry

their objective water, not metaphor

 

Notes: the collage grid of ants was drawn with a black sharpie. “The Italian poet” is Eugenio Montale (1896-1981), whose work I am re-reading over the summer, in this respect especially the poem ‘Thrust and Parry II’, in ‘Satura: 1962-1970’, translated by William Arrowsmith (W. W. Norton, 1998).

 

 

 

Daisy

 

[Daisy]

 

summer day in the garden

little flowers

nothing more complicated than little

 

one coral grevillea

pushing up under like curving leaves

indicates it’s taken root

 

repotting dazed cacti

finding insect-small petals

atop surviving antennae

 

too hot by afternoon

reading inside is small prelude

to dozing on the words

 

a handful of daisies thank you

brought home bright

find a quiet place in a vase

 

water reaches its level

keeping them bright

their exuberant explode

 

tangle reminder at nightfall

of all the suns in existence

tiny in the night sky