On the Blue Verandah

On the verandah, after darkness,
on this raw, wanting island,
she wipes her sweating brow
with the back of her hand.

Too beautiful to look at,
in the sleeping moonlight,
she settles into a crevice of shadows
and looks out over the enormous sea.

Shadows and mystery cloak
her green eyes, the scent of magnolias
mingled with fried fish
disturbs the air.

She closes her eyes and opens
her mouth and croons
soft as sugar-candy
a smooth deep indigo voice.

Like saltwater kisses, the sound
bleeds from her veins,
slipping under cracks
of others doors on the island.

She pushes on through
with the melody of blue.
Blood runs in rivers over paths.
People die and souls fly up to heaven.

A veil of melancholy drapes
her black frame. Notes flutter like birds
from her mouth. She is beautiful.
She is blue.

The Daughter

With the sun high in the sky, I watch her from the shade.
She works in the field, with the other hands, back grooved, muscles taut.

Difficult to make her out from the sea of coarse colourless materials
and the rags covering their sooty woolly heads.

She stands for breath. Her darting almond eyes scan the horizon
almost like a filly planning flight.

Collecting beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of a calloused hand,
her fingers graze high cheekbones and a strong neck.

Regal. Her molasses complexion is the gift of my loins.
The mark of her mama can be traced in the curve of her breasts,

and the outline of her childbearing again and again hips.
She’s a beauty. I will have her once more.

I'm Back

Yes. I went out yesterday morning, early, in the deep snow, I may add. I went down the to local cafe on the beach, got a decaf coffee and wrote. I wrote two new poems for the collection. Of course they need redrafting etc. but it was good, it was real, it got me back into the saddle. I need to keep up the momentum. But it was good to get over the first hurdle.
Maybe it was the reading I've set up at the new Newcastle Central Library that gave me the incentive to put pen to paper. In honour of International Women's Day, there will be a reading at the library on Wednesday 10 March, 6.30 start. And a whole bunch of women will be reading: Maggie Tate, Shirley-Anne Emmerson, Sue Spencer, Degna Stone and Catherine Graham. It should be a good night. Hopefully I'll have more recent additions to read on the night.

Finding it Difficult

I'm finding it difficult to get back into the writing of this collection. I think the fact that I've lost the publisher has something to do with it. I have no motivation now to complete. I've got a few readings lined p over the next few months when I'll be reading from this collection. But as the majority of the poems are new and been heard before I don't have to create any new poems for the readings. I've got nothing to move me forward except my own sense of achievement. And that can wane especially if I;m low on energy.
Next month will mark the 40th anniversary of the start of the revolution. The publishing of this collection in 2010 would have been ideal to mark this anniversary. As it stands I'll be lucky if I complete this collection to mark the end of the revolution in April, never mind seeing it published in 2010. I should try to get together batches of six poems to send out to magazines and webzines, but again I haven't got the motivation.
I need help. Help.

Fish Market, Orange Valley

Changing from one moment to the next
-the skins of red fish had too many colours to choose.
Early morning, arrived, they’d be
thrashing in pod nests, their eyes
fixed marbles where the sea once rode.

The men, in net vests and shorts,
stroked the fish with cool practiced passion.
And before each gleaming body,
they’d be on their knees claiming
their riches from the seas.

In wanting-light, small boats moored,
fish, men and sea would retreat
into the arms of women.

Bad News

I recently found out that the publisher who I had lined up for 'Feb Rev' is no longer able to fulfil their publishing agreement. Here I was thinking that I haven't really been affected by the recession but I think I spoke too soon. So at the moment, I'm still attemtping to complete this collection. On completion, I will have two collections awaiting a publisher. It's not a healthy position to be in. But I've got to think that these things happen for a reason. Something better is going to come along. I have to think this way otherwise I would just give up now.

Taking some fighting spirit from the 'Feb Rev' collection, here is a recent poem.


Bringing in the Cocoa Crop

It clings to my hips and belly
like cream on the top of milk.
It stops just before my knees, forming
a tantalising fluted halo around my legs.
In the sun, it appears to be orange
as the minute threads of silk
are illuminated. But to me it is always ruby;
ruby like the skin of a pomerac.

Other women look at me like I’m crazy.
Some laugh behind their hands.
Others, mouths open wide,
full belly laugh, echoing. I may be tired
to my bones like an old woman.
I may have carried my sea-sick soul
to this estate every day for the past
twenty years.

But nothing can take away my pleasure
of freedom as I bring in the crop
wearing my best ruby dress.

Been Away

I went to Barcelona for a few days last week. It was good to get away and clear the head. I'm moving forward slowly on this collection but I am moving forward and that's the main thing. I should stop thinking of all the outside pressures with regards to this collection and just concentrate on the writing as that's the most important part, right?
So no more agonising about the funding, the deadlines, not even thinking about quality. Let's focus a bit on quantity.