Quick word in your ear:
I have a poem in Otoliths. My sincere thanks to Mark Young, I hope the snakes brought by the floods have now gone.
Update: with more floods on the way, my thoughts go out to those in Queensland.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Greywacke blogs
Saw this at Titus' blog and thought it was a lovely thing to be part of. It's all about taking a moment to notice something. Although I may not post my stones daily on the blog, I will be collecting them daily and will add them here as and when I can.
Monday 10. 7am
A crack in the ceiling; a volcano rising out of peeling emulsion seas. An ant climbs Rangitoto.
Tuesday 11. 9:30am
Staple caught in the carpet; wool dyed to look like sand. A history of everything in brown.
Tuesday 11. 7pm
Bluebottle: all the colours of earth viewed from space. A fly carries the world on its back.
Tuesday 11. 8pm
Tui calls; briskly stirred drink, particles combining. Tapping spoon on china.
Tuesday 11. 8:15pm
Leaden on the swan plant where stained glass should be; dying monarch.
Wednesday 12. 6pm
Sandstone warm at my back; sunning. My thoughts walk a street of clouds.
Thursday 13. 5pm
Bluebottle; blue heart, pulmonary departed. Sea-breathing jellyfish; misplaced lung.
Bluebottle jelly fish, photo taken by Rachel J. Fenton, Thursday 13 January 2011.
Friday 14. 5pm
Coal faced mynahs beak pick beach quarry for snap.
Friday 14. 5.30pm
Three rams chase egg, butt to retrieve it without breaking, fall apart giggling. Rugby ball bounces on damp sand.
Saturday 15. 9am
Clothes tag on the table; commercial breakfast.
Sunday 16. 3pm
A spill on the notebook; penicillin in progress. Writing as medicine. Self heal; eat your words.
Monday 17. 10.am
Bird call; lapping glass.
Tuesday 18. 9.30am
Laundry basket on kitchen floor; still darks in morning.
Wednesday 19. 3pm
Toy tractor lifts book from rug; book lifts child from realia.
Thursday 20. 9.30am
Wisteria reaches for the window; holds out the light.
Friday 21. 5.30pm
Cables chime on flagless poles; Empire folded, the band plays on.
Saturday 22. 7.20am
Drawers left open. Another scratch. Bleeding washing.
Sunday 23. 11.30pm
Hot chocolate on white bedding dries as blood. I surrender.
Monday 24. 10am
Woman stares out through office window, file in hand; pending.
Tuesday 25.
Scribbles in red ink; my name (Rae), and what looks like an eagle's claw; sun dance.
Wednesday 26. 5.30pm
Sparrows flick playground bark: wood chirpings.
View from my house.
Thursday 27. 2pm
The bench, looking out over Mairangi Bay, where I last ate pastries with my mam. Before we left, how did I picture home? With buddleia growing out of her hair, smoking like a forgotten foundry in Attercliffe. And now? Against the backdrop of the sea; Pacific.
Friday 28. 9.15pm
Wedding anniversary. Rain forecast. Lick finger and press to the table: eat inside.
A collection of mugs. Note the Yorkshire Rose!
Friday 28. 10.30pm
Man with a toadstool for a brolly walks a pied dog in the storm: he must be on something.
Saturday 29. 6.30pm
Bulldog on lead. Dog's happier.
Sunday 30. 10am
Teens, taut as swingseats, lark in togs at beach playground.
Sunday 30.
Evolution: two seals stand in the time it takes a wave to break. Gnarly wipeout.
Sunday 30.
Ironing: men with boards press the sea, crease in its waves.
Sunday 30.
Statue: a sheathed phallus, protected from acid rain; environmental consummation.
Sunday 30.
Low barrier promotes Fence Hire; false advertising.
Monday 31. 5am
Morning stretches its wings, pigeon call and dove grey at the window. Whenuapai bird cuts a track clean and rigid as a cleaver. Small bodied chirpings huddle together or fall from the block to bush, defiant in pre-verdant screen in this colourless hour, tone in sound alone.
Monday 31. 8am
Last night's crumbs on table: coconut crack.
My thanks to Fiona and Kaspa for allowing me to take part in this project, which I've thoroughly enjoyed. I hope you've enjoyed reading my daily greywacke. My final stone is here.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Water wait
I went to the beach yesterday evening. As I arrived a man parked his bike, got into a wetsuit, put on red flippers and headed out towards the ship on the horizon line. I watched him. His strokes were even, rhythmic, and every third stroke or so a wave would hide him from view. At about five minutes in, he became indistinguishable from the sea. I waited. Fishermen arrived. Families picked up their beach umbrellas and left, couples came in from the water to cuddle on towels, a fish flew above the water; feeding time. Two hours later a flash of red appeared. He let a wave carry him onto the beach, took off his flippers, walked to his bike and got his towel. I went up to him. How far did you go? He smiled. Language is more than plosives and fricatives after all.