Saturday, 23 April 2016

seaside verge (St Kilda beach; early autumn) (poem)

St Kilda beach, Dunedin.

seaside verge (St Kilda beach; early autumn)

The whole of it, each stitch as it is made,
yet to be un-picked by the next season,
quick or slow, the summer-fried dry seed heads;
dated bouquets; that sound of a cricket's
hidden generator. The silent-grey
swoop of a gull's wing, swish of grass, a bird's
flick-knife flight, milky spider's nest, a bee
nosing fallen flowers. The slain dried grass,
the muted fury beyond the sand-dunes;
that wild, pale roar of a wind-ploughed ocean.

Kay McKenzie Cooke

Dear Reader,

I kept this poem tight. All ten lines have ten syllables.

Written from notes taken while standing on John Wilson Drive, St Kilda, mindful of what was in front of me.

It's good to stop and wait without expectation. To listen and look, not just hear and see.


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