The Fire Dancer (2005)

An old poem inspired by someone I knew who danced with fire.

The Fire Dancer

I imagine on still nights, very late
when the air is dark and sweet
he wanders from home
only half awake

Unwittingly drawn by the
crescent moon, or the hypnotic
circling of bats or the strong
assault of eucalypt scent

Enveloped by the night
he spins burning stars of fire
with his hands
communing with the smooth
wooden staff and the fragile light it supports

He is insubstantial
caught flickering between
reality and dream 
his expressive dance
witnessed by the trees alone

What does he dream in this moment?
does his essence slip
deep into the earth
an ancient pulse
a yearning sensed, not unlike his own?

In time, his dance wavers 
like a falling autumn leaf 
and he rambles home 
to wait, to dream again

Six Seconds (2006)

An old poem about a nightmare, and the unconscious connection you share with the person you love, sleeping next to you.

Six Seconds

She awoke
Stiffly from a dream
She was being followed
By a threatening presence
She found she was encased
Awkwardly in his arms
Burrowing deep into him
Trying to hide
He rhythmically touched her
Every six seconds
Rubbed her arms down
As if she were cold
She was half aware
Of his unconscious protection
She felt his teeth grind
Felt his ragged hot breath
It was a strange hour to wake
The night felt numb
The possums growled and
Barked
Sounding like demons
She closed her eyes
And was greedily pulled
Back in
To the nightmarish realm
Into the library lift
Under the dull flickering light
The door closing softly behind her
Not before
Something else slipped
Silently in

The Third Heart (2005)

I've stumbled across some old poems recently. I wrote this one about my best friend, soon after she learned she was pregnant. Among the first of my friends. It marks the beginning of an inevitable and subtle shift in our friendship, as she moves into a different phase of her life. She has two beautiful kids now. I secretly miss our late-night, meandering bike rides. 

The Third Heart

We glide down dark
Hackett streets on our bikes
In and out of shadows
Cast by Majura Mountain
And lemon coloured kitchen lights

At each turn gaining 
Mischievous momentum
Daytime thoughts lost to
Determined winds
And shifting autumn hues

Our musings weave randomly
With the paths of our bikes
We feel isolated and free
But tonight a third beating heart 
Shares our confidence