Michele Elliot #37 Skylines 6 (after Lizz Murphy Poem 379)

I tell the moon the time is now

she rises in magnificent silence

I ask the tree for shelter

in her green shawl

Lizz Murphy Poem 379 Skylines 6 (after Michele Elliot # 35)

I ask the stars is there ever a right moment no good asking the moon it just questions the tides The moths are waking They leave the cool of cave take to the night skies travel the migratory route Lay their eggs Die The pupae hatch navigate the same path to the Alps gather in the billions cavern cavity crevice On the way they may divert block the light

Lizz Murphy #377 & Michele Elliot SKYLINES 3

Remembering the moonlight   drawing on sea blanket

Michele Elliot

 

I travel

for the skies

draw stars

Lizz Murphy 

 

Lizz Murphy #376 & Michele Elliot SKYLINES 2

SKYLINES 2

out of weather grey   creeps night

Lizz Murphy

out of night sky   awash blue

Michele Elliot

Lizz Murphy # 375 & Michele Elliot SKYLINES 1

Posting on behalf of artist Michele Elliot (a 2016 Project 366 month-guest) and myself. We are experimenting with an online collaboration of words and images over the next few weeks as part of Belconnen Arts Centre's One Sky Many Stories project. Great to be here.

SKYLINES 1

© Michele Elliot

1.
skylines treetops
clouds scratch flag

Michele Elliot


1. 

scratch

a stellar creature

rubs its back

against the sky

Lizz Murphy

Lizz Murphy Poem # 373 Starless

STARLESS

We believed in heaven occasionally spoke more poetically of the heavens often raised our eyebrows said heavens above! But that heaven those heavens were not connected to the sky The sky was just the sky Separate We didn’t look at the stars In winter we were inside because of the cold or shrugged into our ourselves and itchy scarves beholding our frozen breath thinking about our frozen feet In summer the night didn’t fall until midnight We were starless

*

In this hemisphere

city lights blur the skies

In the country

where the nights are black

and you can’t see the person

you are talking to

the stars are back to front

I try to read them

wish I had a sky size mirror

*

Mythology has the sky full of creatures and the The Milky Way is a woman spilling her milk It sounds so nurturing Women can’t help themselves Though in ancient Ireland it’s The Way of the White Cow which still sounds milky and may be how come the cow jumped over the moon

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

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

Lizz Murphy - Poem 360: Which line

Which line will I follow

the hard black where my feet might fall through shadow

the arrow veering everything off to the side

the shimmering wind up into the blue

Lizz Murphy - Poem 359: Christmas colour

mango tasting rose gold

corporate needled glitter

sun skinned season 

Lizz Murphy - Poem 356: wind in the eaves

wind in the eaves             like a cry from a child             under rubble

 

Lizz Murphy - Poem 352: 50,000

Lizz Murphy - Poem 350: Blue

BLUE

Woolworths car park is a playground young people pulling up in station wagons that have seen better days dashing from one to another for a face-to-face Others sit in the dark interiors texting   alien faces aglow with digital blue  Stray shopping trolleys cage waning light think of tomorrow’s river

Lizz Murphy - Poem 347: Ajar 2 (after Sarah St Vincent Welch)

after Sarah St Vincent Welch # 346 Gate

AJAR

Sometimes a door

Sometimes a gate

Sometimes a jar

Lizz Murphy - Poem 346: Ajar (after Sarah St Vincent Welch)

AJAR

after Sarah St Vincent Welch #346 Gate

A special word a new word 

a learnt at school word 

never ever used at home 

If a door was open it was open 

Even if ajar sure it still left a draft 

Lizz Murphy - Poem 335: Rush

RUSH

They are concreting near a new building on the hospital campus a beaming worker stands his two feet in enormous gumboots freshly poured cement up to his calves like a small boy hock deep in mud I want the story I want a photo Like everyone else here I am in a rush

Lizz Murphy - Poem 334: Dress

DRESS

I hang a flared dress on the line

draw the arc of spine as I zip it

pack the artist away again

with each sun washed fold

fingers recalling canvas

Lizz Murphy - Poem 306: sunshine

Jan Mellinson steel sculpture (detail) in Pivotal at Belconnen Art Centre

sunshine

the crowded

footpath

outdoor

umbrellas sway

floating bird

shovels

bacon and eggs

porky legs 

Lizz Murphy - Poem 261: To be or not to bee

TO BE OR NOT TO BEE

If we

be

behind

a bee

would all we

can see

be

the behind

of the bee?

Lizz Murphy - Poem 256: Train vii.

TRAIN

vii.

The woman is 4 foot 3 inches in height and width

she has forgotten to brush one side of her long

blonde hair her fringe a home cut coconut shell

above large thick glasses All her conversations with

other adults are an upward squint but when she speaks

to her small son her voice sounds elegant long-legged

like the vine-thin shadows flitting silver trees

curling around their bark