grit

the stars are out tonight Rachael
and I'm moving again, away from life
departing from the remotest point
my back curved
latin-stepping the moonlit quartz

this bleak equation, distanced
from ownership, walking
backwards, hunted, wearied
falling heavily in the shadows

formlessness isn't it?
this striving, pieces breaking off
but with a sense of standing firm
the letting go woven into the fabric.

a song of future whales

sometime before enlightenment
	brain gone, pencil resting
		monday... or wednesday morning
			familiar world, loving, but

			fragmented or another word
		pull it closer, that other world
	name it... grace... a presence
the indifferent landscape

	and finding yourself
as detached as the landscape
	a respite from the world's
grim-faced radio news

resting from the inner game
	in remembrance of a love buried deep
		in the earth, your soul and sustenance
			for generations of future whales

				but meanwhile a fragile hand
			moves about the cluttered sink
	a voice from afar singing
perhaps a whale song.

within reach for Jo

remember the brown snake we discovered
in the extension? I was impressed

by your curiosity, enjoying the spectacle
one metre of writhing muscular beauty

when it slid beneath a cupboard
I gingerly stepped into the unfinished room
and opened the outer door to facilitate its escape

then we walked the 40 minutes along bush tracks
to Antonio's, for coffee and cake

on returning I climbed into my CFA overalls
and armed with a good stick made a thorough search
but the reptile seemed to have departed

your drum Jo
your beat, yesterday's tears upon your shoulder

darkness flapping her great cloak, time apart
our time together unexpected gifts it all adds up

but hey I'm tired of numbers
let them pass nameless disappearing

I just want to
	hear your voice like
		the morning bell
chiming the hour
	descending
		the singing stairs.

ghost moth

quivering in cupped hands
I sensed for a fleeting moment
it's exquisitely fragile life
then opening my eyes, my fingers
released it to the night

this dark vulnerable place
weaving through blonde-wood;
I have struggled, I have raved
I was not as contained as I made out
but perhaps you understood this
then as my trial, moved swiftly
through your secret list ? I wondered
as you coolly pulled the lever
what is it ? that knot you carry inside?

tree of man for V

the indecision of blue clouds
hangs in winter trees
we wait for rain that never falls

lately death's dulcet tones
have been bothering my good ear
its song of wire, too tired to rust

the sun reaches across
the ochre clay of mid morn
life has yet to show us everything

we edge toward divinity
and why the hell not?
I love our domesticity

the way you stroke the bass
your inward smile
I never know where you are

today old metal dissolves
I wait, erect, detached, case in-hand

carriages rush past, the storm abates
a woman blushes at the news-stand

projecting to journey's end
I see myself latch the gate
and to the shack gain the silent hill.

Fraser Mackay resides in the Pyrenees Ranges, Australia. His work has been published by Penguin-Pearson, Deakin Literary Society, Going Down Swinging and many online journals. His music/spoken-word recordings have appeared on various compilations. He infrequently performs at literary events and festivals and produces art/music videos — see youtube Moon Of Hearts qua qua. His collection of recent poetry New Skin is published by Greendoor Publishing. 

E-mail: Fraser Mackay