Lizz Murphy - Poem 354: Arrivals

ARRIVALS

We’re talking to Ireland all the family is there for Christmas (except us) we are talking loud because 

it is far away and we are all on loud speaker 

I remember the neighbours We’ve just arrived opened the windows to let in cool air and those fragments of conversations except tonight it is us calling out across the narrow street into the night over the fence 

No dogs have stirred that’s a good thing 

Chris Mansell quad #14 he so keen ache

P.S. Cottier #30 (and last) ‘…neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.’

‘…neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.’

Life is walking the dogs,
squatting after them
with a roll of plastic bags
unrolling like an unsavoury tongue.
It happens unexpectedly,
as you try a new recipe,
or opt for the reliable tomato,
always close to hand, and
toss it through a thoughtless pasta —
an old squishy friend
long run to seed, half-seen,
through being seen so much.


Revelations happen,
but most of us are not
St Joan, and God speaks
on a muffled, cracked phone
when we are half listening,
marinating in the mundane
in our accustomed way.
The pause between heartbeats
is more eloquent than any sermon —
that flicker of self; the bandwidth
not quite enough for all the data.
We are walking into God
each day, as we smell the onions,
or squat for the mutts in
a strange, mimetic act.

One day soon, I’ll obtain a clear line.
One day soon the very last walk,
and the darkened screen
pure light, and a meal,
such a meal, as will never end.

P.S. Cottier

The title is from John 10:28 KJV

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After 30 poems in 30 days, I am very tired.  I'll leave it to the rest of you now!  I blog at pscottier.com, and it's best to visit on Tuesdays.

P.S. Cottier #10 Two dogs

Two dogs

Young dog cups warmth

into her belly —

lots more where that came from.

Old dog limps towards the fire

dreams, remembering bones.

Does he know of the bones to be?

P.S. Cottier

P.S. Cottier #3 Canberra walk

Canberra walk

A gaggle of poets
at the shops
A white stripped team
of cockatoos
Gobbles of acorns
inside my Staffie
Ankles of walks
Angles of paths
Clouds arguing
with the blue —
elected by the wind.

P.S. Cottier

Lizz Murphy #3 — Greyhounds Make Great Pets (after Sarah St Vincent Welch)

Greyhounds make great pets

A response to 'Half Moon Bay' by Sarah St Vincent Welch

Legs like risen loaves of bread

our heads lolling at the speeding

landscape not taking in the all brown

The odd tree is a thumb swell of khaki

we yearn for an old man kangaroo

an emu a camel a highway robbery

some re-run of history get another

air-con breakdown Someone else’s

road trip reminds me of this and the

coach line I will never travel with again

I am now thinking of greyhound racing

and the increasing number of greyhounds 

out walking the elegant arc of them

lovingly re-homed instead of you know

what still they have that forlorn mien

A guy on a TV ad confesses to his young 

wife I curse she is not your mother so 

anyway okay they’ve got a quick loan

we don’t have to hear from them again

and the cat will survive at any cost

Boats scour the water surface white 

spectators on open water in their own

race and we on the verge of losing Gonski 

reform of failing our children our children 

failing falling our children wading neck deep