Three poems |
MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE Conjuring fish in the morning sun the sea slips me a tip, a coin on my tongue, the language through which I will send my love to you. First
published in Orbis No.
116/117
© Jill Townsend 2000 |
MOONLIGHT A pat of butter on the sea. When I was young it used to soothe my bruises, the hot bump on my head. But this just sits on its cool plate, the rhythmic tilt and splash eroding nothing, nothing. Discolouration spreads as far as you can see, fish slip like corpuscles so deep down they're only calculations or acts of faith where shadows jostle ponderous as cows. First
published in Orbis No.
116/117
© Jill Townsend 2000 |
RIPE Dying torches the forest, sending us to bed with nightmares about fires and words scattering like wild creatures, birds hellbent for the cities where we will dream succulent fruits popping with seeds like pine cones, our mouths bristling with teeth and our extraordinary tongues ripening at dawn. First
published in Links No.
8
© Jill Townsend 2000 |