POETRY
Michael began to write poetry in 1993 after returning from his first visit to China. Like the making of small scale sculptures, modelled by hand in wax or clay, or the act of drawing on paper with charcoal, poetry is an intimate form; the distillation of an idea. Michael’s poems weave colours, images and sounds, drawn from and exploring his purpose as an artist.
Heart’s Flight
Hold the lamp above the map so creased and faded
for alligators’ eyes are watching every gesture
their ears hear every sound
be wary, yes, that’s prudent
but do not be afraid
listen to the thunder of the waterfalls
and the cry of the monkeys leaping.
The captain holds the windlass hard
firm on the silver sea
Its surface smooth as glass
is shattered by the beating rain
the swell of the tall waves rising
lightening strikes across the sky
tearing through the rigging.
He turns his eyes to the ghostly moon
and sees the wild clouds rolling.
The dark ship rose and rode the storm
like a gull upon the ocean.
Jumbled images of exasperation,
fall into the chalice of reconciliation
and retribution,
if water should envelope
and the lungs take their last breath
cling to raft and timbers – do not cry out again.
The rocks of the sea,
like the rocks of the mind, jut out
collide and clash together like the Symplegades
of mythology
the Argonauts furious oars cut deep into the current.
What message of hope does the white dove bring
its feathers all damaged and bloody?
The rocks of the land
tear open the flesh of the earth
exposing its innards like the entrails of the martyr
pulled by cart to Tyburn Tree
then hung drawn and quartered
or like the Aztec priest, his obsidian sacrifice complete
holding high a living heart
for crowds at the Templo Major
the ‘Flowery Wars’ are over
a hungry sun appeased
The heart’s flight traced along the mainstays of the stars
ignites the silent lake below, inspiring and forbidding
its white – hot glare impossible to watch,
the heat unbearable
Yet, that molten lake
with its leaping tongues of Pentecostal fire
conceals the heart of ecstasy at its core,
which will rise, one day,
like a phoenix from the ashes.
Siren Song
and the owl cries
sweeping along the hedgerow
wings disturbing the warm air
caressing the softness
of the June night
holding secrets in his doleful eyes
illicit words of love
mask deeper meanings
flowing in torrents
over stones rubbed smooth
in the abyss of forgotten memories
and you with your silken skin
tongue coiled like a snake
in the chamber
of your cherub’s mouth
let sweet obscenities fall
decaying like apples on the orchard’s bed
what will you tell me
Queen of the Night
what liquid testimonies
born of the bee’s song
prostrate on the altar of your sacrifice
thunderbolts shatter the stillness of our souls
show me the coup de gras
the siren song of your fathomless intensity
where is the viper’s kiss
my heart is hanging from the eucalyptus tree
flayed like Marsyas in the forest
