Hermetic

I am hermetically sealed in a glass egg — amber-tinted, golden when I exhale
Translucent, gleaming, it throbs with each beat of my heart, causing ripples in the ocean and tremors in the earth
My paramour can feel them right across the globe, where the moon and the stars are upside-down
Venus is always the first star to glimmer in the night — no matter where you are, love comes first
She is also the last you’ll see before sunrise — love comes last too

The egg is hard as a diamond — demons bounce off its shell like India rubber bullets pinging into outer space
Incursions are imminent but I am immune to excursions
I can make the shell porous when I choose, to inhale others and commune —
I simply soften my shoulders and smile and they come to me when I breathe

obsidian

abuse leaves the taste of metal
in the mouth
along with loose teeth
and split silenced tongue
entitlement bullies heavily

I tire of the dull reality
of lies and giddy reveries
there is gravity in truth
and it is beautiful
black glass obsidian


Image by Troy Squillaci from pexels.com and edited by me.

love lingers longingly (spoken word video)

This poem is a response to my great uncle Harry’s poem The train is winding slowly. It is also a meditation on intergenerational trauma and the layers that grief, love and loss form in the mind and body. My poem is dedicated to my great uncle, my grandmother (his sister) and my father. They were all very closely intertwined. You can read my poem here. You can also turn on auto-captions in the settings menu in YouTube.

The train is winding slowly: a poem about war, love and longing.

Poem by Harry Searle

Above is a poem by my Great Uncle Harry, killed in action at age 23 during World War II, in the battle of El Alamein (1942). I’m posting this today, on Anzac Day, to honour Harry and acknowledge the deep loss felt by my family at his passing. I’ve written out a transcript of the poem below. Written for his wife Beryl, it’s a poignant and tender poem, speaking of love, loss and longing during wartime.

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The train is winding slowly
Through a strange and foreign land
And as far as the eye can travel
Stretches the shifting sand.

Along the dying daylight
Into the darkening light,
The turning wheels are taking me
Farther from your sight.

But though I travel farther,
Even to the end of my day,
My love shall be as your love
For ever and for aye