all the world on our backs
i)
wet-boot-feet
in the icy-stream
our eyes caught
held
by flickering flashes
we hungrily feel
the smooth weight
in our hands
greedily fill our packs
discover the strain
of carrying stones
the weightlessness
of a poem
ii) the day was filled with
silent stones
wet silent stones
that sang to me
beneath the leap of the sun
black hooded figures
stand silently
faces turned from the sea
dart to the drum-roll
break
plant their beams
in the searing sand
the drum-roll starts stops
figures fly forward
snap plant freeze
fly snap plant freeze fly
fill up the grid between
the beat of a drum
the throb of a pulse
in a ritual marriage
of dark and light
flap on till a triangle
of dancing light
flickers in the black iron sand
the sun slowly sinks
into the sea
the melon moon rises
drifts towards the tide
black gulls swoop
along the sand
leap on the lights
toss them to hands-held-high
the melon moon drifts
towards the tide
her foot fumbles
she falls into
the wild rising sea
children shriek
blackness descends
down-under distortions over the Manukau
(a poem in five parts)
you are a frozen sheet
I want to put on my skates
skim over
your illusion
your far edge is tufted
with crisp white icing
bleaching to
a soft mauve
you are my ice queen
silent on the surface
lulling my
senses
your suppressed
passion
erupts
like wild horses
bursts
my delusion
*
a huge gold
balloon
behind
city lights
mirrors itself
twice
on the broken
mud flats
soars
colour leaches
size shrinks
to a hanging
ball of ice
*
you were the sage
of my Canadian
childhood
overturned
by a cherub
holding
the south
night
in place
homesick
I need your
balance
reach it
by hanging
upside down
*
an egg
leans into
the sky
wide-eyed
a faker
changing
shape
his magic
controls
seas shifts
my moods
*
a sickle
slices
a hole
in the sky
a star
drops down
the cross forms
& Orion appears
ignominiously
standing
on his head
the bach [a love poem]
we break in through
the back door
cobwebs cling
to our faces
our hands our hair
we feel our way
past an old wobbly loo
stumble down
a darkened hall
and catch our breath
we look long at the harbour
long in each other’s eyes
the land agent turns
politely away
the bach had sat
barely breathing
for half a year
we have waited
half a life-time
*
in late March we move in
outside the winds and rains
howl and slash
queen wasps slip between
cracks in the walls
fly drunkenly
round the ceiling
I cling to Peter
rats scuttle and gnaw
under the floorboards
possums scramble
over the tin roof
rasp my nerves
*
winter blasts our bach
its bones creak
I shiver
Peter lights a fire
in the open grate
the heat shoots up the chimney
we throw a mattress
on the floor by the fire
make our own heat
Bio: Ila Selwyn
impatient & impetuous
loves to laugh luxuriates in the
absurd
scribbles ideas on paper
edges them onto her computer
leaves flutter out
words whole lines disappear
yield on a good day: one small
nubile nugget
