Tag Archives: COVID

sea cravings

All night the wind has roared
rolling through the trees
with a sound like waves,
and I wake with a sea-craving.
So I pour a handful of cowries
from the abalone shell where they have nestled,
unregarded,
since the last was added two summers ago.
Rubbing my thumb
across a smooth domed back,
the ridges of its aperture,
I remember the touch of salt water,
its smell and taste,
and try to hold it inside me
as it wells in my eyes.

 

I am grateful that we’ve been so little affected by covid compared to others, even in Australia, but I so miss the sea. 

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Monday morning ha’sonnet: WFH

Isolation
does have some good
compensations,
for how else could
I sleep ‘til eight,
have breakfast late
and be on time! Continue reading

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Sunday morning ha’sonnet – “live free or die”

Live free or die
sounds heroic,
but please for my
sake be stoic –
don’t make me ask,
put on your mask.
Don’t choose for me. Continue reading

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100 miles inland

The wind in the trees roars like waves
rising and breaking, tumbling,
rolling onto sand,
and ebbing away. Continue reading

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Dirt-road dystopia

My boots pursue a circle of torchlight,
toes catching its edge with each step. Continue reading

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