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BELONGING LAND
dawning sunlight rays
behind my back, over my shoulder,
along the table.
jungle'd forest around me,
green-leafed fantasy canopy-
surround of sound & light flicker,
where a black butterfly blurs close
to my cheek, and two birds
with blue beaks streak past.
just a handful of metres away,
not seen for green
pulsing curtain between us,
is my friend the sea slapping gently
its morning waves to shore
in rhythm of greeting.
a daughter sleeps in. They come
to me for rest & recreation now,
children... no more the frenzy
of everyday years, but
in packets of time cybermailed
from faraway countries,
I drink my coffee,
listen with the gravity
of my body's tides,
and draw them back in close
to confident resonances
of land to whom they belong.
not for us other wars & blood
spilt on european soil where voices
long dead speak from stones,
but this, familiar sun,
trees that house myriad rainbows
and a pacific ocean rocking us to sleep
by Pip Sheehan Nov 2008 |
BUBBLING
go!
submerge
submit to liquid
the world bubbles
up elsewhere
gone
blue
dancing
bright patterns
white tongues
lick me
clean
other-
than-you
a great barrier
reef stretching
the whole
coastal
me
coral
moon spawn
of the year's full
tide hide here away
from cyclone storm
& the stones
i eat save
me
see
afterwards
the sun above
swim up
to the
light
by Pip Sheehan March 2009 |
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GOD'S GRAMMAR
mum has been
a given
in our lives
like gravity
or grammar
or light
or soil in a garden
or saliva or tears
or blood
a strong
& persistent
heartbeat
not reduced
by gender
or generation
a cup-of-coffee
adrenaline
for the storms
on the messy ocean
of our days and the
tsunami of our nights
resurrecting rosaries
of meaning across
shared decades
punctuated with
the grammar
of God
Pip Sheehan January 2009 |
HERE WE ARE AGAIN, HOME
waking up, I think.. it keeps us
young, the ancient optimism
of making a new home
the finding of a vase here
a salad bowl there
and extra sheets from mum
my ex wanting some time
in the outback, we spend '91
between lullawala & kuranda
and then he, wanting time
in the mountains, takes us to
the enzed alps of lake wanaka
much earlier than this, escaping
newcastle on my way O.E.
I make it to sydney
before settling in byron bay
post nimbin - when it was a
pioneer community, not a holiday
returning briefly years and years
later, the compass still
spins, pointing further north
we barely unpack in surfers
make it to cairns, sit out
our first monsoon
light another easter candle
and pull out the bits & pieces
of books and cushion covers
that have made it across the sea
and through the length of a country
to where we are again, home
Pip Sheehan First performed
at Tanks Unplugged April 2008 |
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PIP SHEEHAN - POET
BOOK CREATORS CIRCLE |
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