Click here for the full post about my Mum and Dad.
My father is here to
entice art from the sky,
his instrument of choice,
a sort of….
an ancient silver rising
of voices and tide.
He swings a racket
to capture dreams,
and earths them …..
He is a lover of marmalade
bitter and orange
and his smile you ask
his smile is
a winter fire
his smile is Shangri-la.
Finding the sweet me
is a forever journey
a soul trip
to inner space
amongst the mist
before I could think
When my heart was jupiter
and you my mother
my feathered gods that
swung me left and right
missing the fan blades
instilling a grounded earthly love
blue and green
a painterly lean
a thick plastering of sensational life
I flew the roads and climbed the mountainous peaks
dancing the backs of cashmere goats
I have breathed shallow on the arsenicum ridges
been plaintive in my call
but strength becomes me now
and oceans float my
in the folds of satin ink
amongst wildflowers and faces
My father’s teaching house was a wonderful, leaning thing,
thick with toxic fumes and creativity.
My school next door, however, an imposing beast.
A glutton for unhappy children and alcoholic ladies, with red front teeth and spanking on their minds…
After school dust followed me everywhere, sticking like an Australian summer.
My mind already in Dad’s art-house, anticipation mixing mud and colours!
Each day on my journey, I climbed the Moreton Bay Fig, to a birdhouse nestled in the wisest crook, to check inside for feathers.
I eagerly awaited a nest, a speckled egg or two, but always empty….still my imagination urged me on, a confident soldier!
This day I faced the tree in all it’s rough splendour and scuttled up, little skirt flying.
My leafy view was a spyhole and Dad an ant under my shiny brown gaze; my love rained silver on that world.
With reverent expectation, I lifted the lid of the bird-house, what to see?
A gleaming red thing, a glorious apple!
Bigger than the eggs I had imagined, with their wild gold shells, I needed two hands to carry this treasure!
So with an apple shaped package in my green school knickers,
I made my way to earth with a bite of magic that unveiled distinct possibilities.
The truth, I was Eve’s descendant, gifted forever with the return of sweet opportunity.
How I rejoiced in my blood globe token,
of beautiful sin,
of pagan thrill
of paternal adoration
of connection to my god heart.
I was sure my father had put it there given as he was
to things that made you believe in something else.
His denial was fervent though and to this day,
so, unless his, is a 35 yr old secret,
I am the bearer of wizardry sweet and a calling so dear that my birdhouse remains to its brim, ever filled,
with sparkling cider and stars.
Feet and art make I (n) den tati on
is large and deep thinking
the hull, buoyant and safe
sometimes steel sometimes butter
squeezes in between words
do flying fish have feathers
Owls tell me father’s secret
his love is not hollow noise
like air and sand
his guidance, life’s lion
like north point
magnetic, magnifi (sent)
feet and feathers
His heart is my boat
make a wish………………..
Little joker great Heyokah
something more than
101 ways to
Find it in the
his Father finally found
His mother wished
His father kissed