becopoetry

Poetry Music Thoughts and Reflections

Shoulder in Lockdown — November 6, 2020

Shoulder in Lockdown

 

i battle with a body primed to run   

the same as yesterday

what haven’t i done? 

what have i done?

i haven’t taken my pills 

i have taken my pills every day 

a guilty urge to hide in bed 

it’s then i remember

we’re still in lockdown

i think of my feet 

i feel into my hands

.

interrupting my tricks to fix

a familiar sound

thumping feet on the floorboards 

a wide gait trot

from his bedroom to mine

.

he pauses at the edge of my mattress

giggles when he meets my eyes

roughly pulls up the doona 

bums his way into bed

and begins stroking my skin

mummy’s shoulder he sighs

then moves his hand to my mouth

Shhhhhhhhh

.

we have time this morning

a suburb away 

today his sisters are with their dad 

no school runs

no disability day service 

just him and i 

with nothing in particular

to have to do

.

Shhhhhhhhh i copy 

blowing the sound onto his hand

do it again he delights

Shhhhhhhhh i sound 

onto his forehead 

.

He rests his face onto mine

the hair on his chin 

a soft prickle on my cheek

my exhale slows

he sniffs at my mouth

wincing at my un-brushed breath

he pushes my shoulder away 

cuddle Mummy’s back

i laugh and turn

.

he spoons in close 

strokes the skin on my collar bone

his nose tip touching the back of my neck

Mummy’s shoulder he sighs 

— April 23, 2020
Autumn — March 7, 2020
Centrepiece — January 22, 2020

Centrepiece

Portrait of lady on porcelain plate

Pink dresses dancing for clergy

Little fire in a chandelier

 

I take pause at the edge

of a gallery in branded sandals

one foot off the floor

before the toes of a Persian Queen

summoned AND SO I WILL GO

UNTO THE KING WHICH IS NOT ACCORDING

TO THE LAW AND IF I PERISH

I PERISH        I turn

 

Under the arches of the exhibiting hall

real-life bride performs a pirouette

two men        each eye their lens

one on one knee

the other circumnavigating

light in crafted spin

 

 

 

 

 

poem and drawing by Rebecca Sullivan

 

Wind — December 13, 2019

Wind

A pale orchard is the speaker

 

he is older than bones

older than a visitor flickering beyond night

dropped in Blood Mother’s hand

 

a sheet draped white yellow flower

reveals he is close

close to her sweetest internal rhyme

 

he dances words from the eardrum of her ocean cave

The Camellia’s Smoothed Rage — November 20, 2019
Passport — April 24, 2017

Passport

on turquoise ground

rooftops are flag forced

revolution red

 

risking reprisals

yellow stars are ripped

on the city outskirts

 

in homage to a stolen lama

a Shigaste restaurateur

pull curtains

over Beijing’s chosen Panchen

 

old man whispers of a secret

picture of Dalai

 

in the capital

binoculars pore over prostrations

and Buddha’s blessings are molested

at temple gate checkpoints

 

machine gun operators

operating their lungs

over chanting nomads

 

om mani padma hung

clockwise hum plaited

into hair of pilgrims

 

a Tibetan grandmother

holding my arm

guiding me to spin

the prayer wheel

 

in the base of my belly

in my neck

behind my eyes

in my right breast

 

melted butter

and sage fired

Jokhang air

 

a ticket home

 

one way permeability

 

all Tibetan passports

were confiscated in 2012

 

 

IMG_6226

A Concise History of Love — May 4, 2015
Mountain Ash — May 1, 2015

Mountain Ash

…….

            …..

clothed in my embrace

….

          ….

amniotic fluid

                                                                      ………

                           …………….

weeps into his face

……

….

……….

……………..

………………………….

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Dedicated to William Ricketts who sleeps peacefully under the majestic Ash.

A reading of Mountain Ash can be found here. To You who read and listen

 endless love and see you down the road

oxo

Bec