Outside the sky is polished silver

Thunder ripples

Sky gongs bonged to call distraction to attention

My brain is grinding words slowly

Granular meaning, awkwardly applied

The plumbing is rusty from lack of flow

Many are discarded

Few make the cut

My dog jerks at another roll of thunder

I murmur words of distracted comfort

She stretches with the shyness of a pet not usually allowed this far inside the house

I wonder if that is how the words feel

When first they are invited to enter again

Writers really shouldn’t take breaks

But here we are

The sputtery spurt

Noise in the pipes

Mostly wind

Like water, poetry runs buried deep

It takes awhile to bring it to the surface

But first, you have to know where it is

*Header Photo Coolum – I love the way the tree seems to lean down toward the ocean, as if it is listening to the wisdom of the waves. I do that too when I visit. Usually I’m a person who finds it difficult to sit still, waves have a mesmerising, calming effect. Perhaps it’s the magnesium and salt that drifts off their crashing and into our system or just the sheer beauty, probably a combination of both.