Showing posts with label birds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birds. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 22, 2019

Lizz Murphy Poem 381 Skylines 8




In the day blackjay just ahead In the night Corvus somewhere above So many stories Perched on a shoulder Whispered in an ear Fallen bird Soul from the sky Who was your message for Will they see it in the stars


   Lizz Murphy 


for the Skylines collaboration with Michele Elliot

Happy New Year everyone — just catching up

Saturday, November 10, 2018

Lizz Murphy Poem 378 SKYLINES 4




































handkerchiefs
over noses mouths

above is umber
the sun a burn hole
moon a light stain
one breakthrough star

black-faced brown crows
line the bridge  men below
deal their hands


Sunday, September 30, 2018

Lizz Murphy Poem # 374 Does the Sky Bleed


DOES THE SKY BLEED


Do stars tremble in the face of the wind
does the wind roar in the face of the star

if you fall upon a star
what if you land on a point

who decided a star had five points

who first drew a five-pointed star in one continuous line
do you remember how hard that was

what if the sky was granite
what if it was galvanized leaky tin

what if all the birds took to the sky at one time
would it just be a traffic jam or would they eclipse the sun

what if the sky was a crow’s wing
‘raven’ (it’s not the same bird) always sounds so much nicer
the sky would be a satin shelter

what if you dream your room has separated from your house and is spiralling 
up into the black sky and now the walls are disappearing and your bed is going to slide 
out into the night into space would you be singing twinkle twinkle little star

what if you are in your pyjamas on the stairs and they separate from everything
and fly up into the sky and you are sitting on the edge of the first step
and the bannister has gone
is reaching for the sky an unachievable unrealistic goal

why do they say reach for the stars
that’s a big reach
it’s not like getting a dish off a high shelf

who washes God’s socks
is that when it rains

is falling through space like almost drowning
is falling through space like drowning only faster

if the sky fit
would you wear it
midnight blue

a wattle bird nests in a drought-thwarted tea tree
when I walk past it flaps its way out
cuts a line through space to a higher point in a nearby gum tree

does the sky bleed when a eucalypt pierces it
is that why the sky turns red as the sun goes down
does the sun get a sinking feeling


Friday, December 30, 2016

Lizz Murphy - Poem 364.2: Monochrome



MONOCHROME

Just a week ago the land was a wrung out cloth streaked gold through the olive damp This week it is a bleached sheet heads of wheaten grass shimmering champagne and silver with each breeze I have only just left the ghost of winter behind Everything is opposite

a guitar shaped leaf
a bird raising its wings
its downy underside
its second cast shadow
the ghost of winter



Thursday, December 29, 2016

Lizz Murphy - Poem 364: Cross my hand (nod to SSVW & SD)




CROSS MY HAND

Under the broadening light of the grapevine
lies a door waiting  moldering  waiting for someone
to unearth it creak it open travel downward into its 
world of bury

I cross my hand over a turned page pick my way down the side of the pit  a root curves under my foot and another like a thought just under the tongue  In the back of my mind how we think of the worst possible scenario to help us cope with reality when it comes  it might be desperate anyway

My hand aches from too many words it loses grip
My thoughts tighten and my arm my shoulder
He says it’s in the last lines the best ideas come
but I can’t hold on

her tiny wrists
as she types
one finger
at a time

A helicopter flies low In this other world  there is the constant hum of motors leaf blowers mowers  one crashes over sticks some vehicle reverses at length birds are in and out of the heat

There is a young mother  she saunters pushing the pram with one hand her new babe cradled in the other arm   her walk and rock walk and rock Nurturing Capable

Another thought - the surprise of surprised eyebrows

There is a small face then a large  over there her gaunt face  cheeks and eyes dragging  she waits for her name to be called

Eyebrows again how to draw them  the many ways  mostly too high too arched

It skirrs low over the road a wide cape of wing  legs like streamers  pulls back at my approach rises fast
I feel these arcs in my own body before it sweeps off in its chosen direction 
The power the grace




Monday, December 26, 2016

Lizz Murphy - Poem 361: I draw a nest


I draw a nest
an ant climbs a wall
paper and wall are white
the wall is whiter
I should draw the wall





Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Lizz Murphy - Poem 349: Drifts



DRIFTS

Bird sounds all shapes sometimes a swoop the news from over the back the children’s shift a gentle waking then squabbling Quiet A pigeon cooing other voices the wind in a rush through trees and cables The street emptying Somewhere a vehicle reversing at length A keyboard clickety click me talking to myself The phone me talking The drone of a small motor bike I see dragonflies Wind chimes I see a drift of blowing blossoms A black cat crosses someone else’s path what about my luck Laughter and a high voice Dinner time traffic Quiet


Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Lizz Murphy - Poem 348: Back to the burbs





BACK TO THE BURBS

Still and balmy evening the kind that had families sleeping out on their front lawns in the sixties would we do that now I open a window a neighbouring dog barks a warning Next door comes home it sounds like a visitor in our driveway stick my head out to see I wonder why no-one else is putting out bins tonight turns out I’m a day ahead A glimmer of yellow through the window a motorbike on the footpath postal deliveries day and night At 5 am a lone ranger’s incessant call eventually birds respond in the distance the occasional wheel turns on tarmac At breakfast I remember that here everything is planted right out to the kerb there are few lawns to lie on


Monday, December 12, 2016

Magdalena Ball #28: Bird Brain

Bird brain

intelligence isn’t only
for domination, destruction, dissolution

bird song is the backdrop you don’t see
a dozen species going off at once

it’s a bush party, to which I’m not invited
though the music takes over the neighbourhood
percussive neurons firing

playing loudly till dusk, especially the kookaburras
who started up at dawn, disappeared into a midday
worm siesta, and are at it again as evening approaches

as for the parrots, they can count up to six
and crows can do algebra

the social life in my little forest is teeming
intricate territorial calls, clicks, a syntactic pattern of hoots, wails, caws

bird poetry, should such a thing exist, might be solely performance based
a nightly slam of visual cues, sound, and rhythm
vibrating on each side of the syrinx

apparently birds also can feel empathy
a quality homo sapiens are running a little low on of late
so who’s the bird brain?

Saturday, December 10, 2016

Lizz Murphy - Poems 345: Back in the bush



they rise like ghosts
or soft grey angels against
the charcoal dark

wings spread
agitate cooling air
beaks pierce night

a summer glut
winged insects smear
my windscreen 

 

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Lizz Murphy - Poem 328: Open the heart (part I-III)



[Scroll to the raven image for the new section]
 
OPENING THE HEART

Raising arms (six times)

Mt Bobbara becomes golden
blue shadow streak each rock
etched into the horizon


Open the heart (six times)

out of the old
leaves shine lime
gum blossoms are
ruby pendants



Paint the rainbow (six times each side)

evening light draws
the edges white
cockatoos separate the sky

Part the clouds (six times)

at the foot of Bobbara
a thousand trees the red tips
of new growth

Rolling arms in fixed stance

cockatoos
flakes of cloud keeling
into trees

Rowing the boat in the middle of the lake

you can see the water
tank for the steam trains
ironblack rustbleed
 
Supporting the ball in front of the shoulder

a door
unusual
am I needed

Gazing at the moon

freight train
orange rush


Turning waist and pushing palm

the old bath
weeded
what to plant

Cloud hands in horse riding stance

dandelions close
something invisible
flicks a stem

Scooping the sea & looking at the horizon

ravens
harbingers of myth
they play with our minds


Pushing the tide out

cockatoo
a Christmas ornament
on the neighbouring
oak tree

Flying dove spreads its wings

grey gathering
a dog barks across
the railway track

Punching in horse stance

Mt Bobbara olive
must replace that board
a horse kicked in

The flying wild goose

geraniums
forgot they were in bloom
the rooster is up


The rotating firewheel

grey heron sailing by
neck scrunched

Stepping and bouncing the ball

a bird chips at air
another winds up
for a song

Balancing the chi to close

the guinea fowl
have lost their panic
graze quietly



Practising Shibashi a T’ai Chi/qigong form — with shades of Leonard Cohen (sorry I can’t remember the title of his T’ai Chi poem)




Lizz Murphy - Poem 327: Open the heart (part II)



OPEN THE HEART 
(part ii - Shibashi continued)

Rolling arms in fixed stance

cockatoos
flakes of cloud keeling
into trees

Rowing the boat in the middle of the lake

you can see the water
tank for the steam trains
ironblack rustbleed

Supporting the ball in front of the shoulder

a door
unusual
am I needed

Gazing at the moon

freight train
orange rush

Turning waist and pushing palm

the old bath
weeded
what to plant

Cloud hands in horse riding stance

dandelions close
something invisible
flicks a stem

Scooping the sea & looking at the horizon

ravens
harbingers of myth
they play with our minds


Tuesday, November 22, 2016

Lizz Murphy - Poem 326: Open the heart (Shibashi)



OPEN THE HEART

Raising arms (six times)

Mt Bobbara becomes golden
blue shadow streak each rock
etched into the horizon



































 
Open the heart (six times)

out of the old
leaves shine lime
gum blossoms are
ruby pendants

 

















 















 
Paint the rainbow (six times each side)

evening draws 
the edges white cockatoos 
separate the sky



Part the clouds (six times)

at the foot of Bobbara
a thousand trees the red tips
of new growth


On the first four moves of Shibashi, a T’ai Chi qigong form

Monday, November 21, 2016

Lizz Murphy - Poem 325: Contents (a found poem)


CONTENTS
GRAFFITI ARTIST     
OUTCAST 
A WOMAN WAITS
BONE           
LOOKING FOR THE POETRY IN BONES     
LEAVES IN GREEN           
MYTH BREAKER    
I AM A CROWD
IN MY ARMS
SOME ARE QUIET ABOUT IT     
THAT MOMENT WHEN WE WERE ALL SEABIRDS AGAIN
IT COULD BE WORSE                       
TWO DOLLARS A DAY
COUNTING ON MY FINGERS
THROUGH A CHILD’S EYES
CHOCOLATE FIX     
WHO’S COUNTING           
A GIRL IS PRIMPED
MAKESHIFT SHELTER     
THE SHOOT     
OPEN SEASON
CLATTER     
HALF-SENTENCED     
JEREMIAD     
BEAK BLUE AS MUSSEL SHELL
HEAT WAVE
HER BENT HEAD
THISTLE-GREY           
I AM A FOX
BACKLIT     
DANGEROUS WOMEN     
SHE SCRAPES OFF HER OWN MOUTH             
AERIALS
THREE DUCKS FLYING ACROSS THE ROAD     
TRIAD            
IT’S A CHEMO DAY
A WOMAN IS BLINDED     
A WOMAN IS RAPED           
A WOMAN THREADS           
A RUSH OF LEAVES
WOMEN MY AGE
NOW VIEWING     
UNCUT
WILDS
THE WOMAN IN THE POEM

Yass poet Gregory Piko thinks the Contents in my latest collection Shebird 
(PressPress 2016) read like a poem. I'm taking his word for it :) Thanks to Greg.