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 

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

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

Lizz Murphy - Poem 344: Life in the suburbs

LIFE IN THE SUBURBS

1.

whipper snippers

like chain saws or cows

separated from calves

2.

hot water pipe

calling

dingo yearning

3.

living dangerously

screen door unsnibbed

footsteps

Lizz Murphy — Poem 151: In the frame (with Sarah)

In response to Sarah St Vincent Welch's With Lizz

IN THE FRAME (WITH SARAH)

A long awaited coffee

splash of red framed by orange

Old time’s sake

precious writing mornings

What colour were the 90s

A scarlet man on his smart phone

The memory of a raptor’s hindquarter

framed in my car window

A hawk like torn tan bark

its catch limp-winged

The reflection of the barista

In the corner a chuckly breast-fed baby

Sarah is laughing I am laughing

her eyes searching out a poem

poking it into her phone

She thinks I’m writing about testicles

(honestly – they were kestrels)

Note to self: improve handwriting

She is serious now

hair hooked back

Concentration

The tangerine saucers walk me again

through 70s suburbs

Orange is a happy colour we agree

but I still hate those orange curtains

Lizz Murphy — Poem 89: Neighbours