by Ashley Capes & Graham Nunn
frost on hinges
by the letterbox
a thin shadow
every pine needle
quivering
the powerline
stretches
raven’s claws
your black skirt
drying in the wind
moonlight
on the verandah
first wood-smoke
only the fire
warms his old hands
two moths
circle the lamp – fighting
or fucking or both
the click of a light switch
swallowed by black
in bed
my coffee and I
unstirred
flipping through vinyl
ancora tu
old cat
watching the kite
chase its tail
wind flings leaves
into water
rising moon
a mango stain
on my t-shirt
cicada husk
grey in the moonlight
morning drizzle
the blonde’s
exposed roots
watering the pot plant
even the birds hushed
spring moon
each hibiscus flower
flooded by light
a gentle tread
grasshoppers scatter
on the hillside
a riot of flowers -
bee sting
young boy streaks
past the swing set
in the park
the ibis flees
echo of laughter
two sugar ants
share our blanket
rust
on the swing set –
nosebleed spots
a red scarf slashed
across her throat
the white butterfly
folds its wings
I am very still
just the two of us
crushing dry herbs
lover’s quarrel
steam
from the train yard
so much longing
in the owl’s voice
in the electrical storm
me and the moon
who is thinking of who?
gathering leaves
shaped like tear drops
one seat
between us
and not a word
the fence posts
make perfect bookends
leaning further
into dusk -
old poinciana
black against the sky
the farmer’s hoe
before sunrise
wildflowers
colour the fields
against the back step
boots covered in pollen
* for those of you who would like to find out more about renga, or even get invloved in writing one, head on over to Issa’s Snail and check out what is happening there.
It’s like a movie, with evolving scenes, different types of fades and crosses, and I love the delayed rhymes and the changes of rhythm synched up to the changes of scene. If I was next all I would do is make longer lines and get rid of all the imposed structure without changing any of the words but then that is just me, messy. Haha, it is fabulously beautiful.
Glad you enjoyed it Paul… had never thought of it as filmic but reading it again I have found an even deeper appreciation for it. It became like a dance, with the links pulling each other close, but then quickly changing partners.
This is beautiful Graham, yet again. So exact, specific (the moths fight-fucking, the blood spots on the swing) yet, as Paul said, the wider camera pan is still there. Beautiful. BEAUTIFUL! I can’t write things like this. I miss the everyday, mostly at the expense of engaging an audience I sometimes feel, so I’m very envious. VERY.
Thanks, Paul and Maxine! We had a great time doing it – took a while but it came out in a highly visual manner, as you’ve noticed. It’s almost like 36 short films.
sorry, should have been short, short films there I think
Yeah thanks heaps Paul & Maxine. The real thrill of the renga is bouncing ideas of someone else… it takes your writing places you may never otherwise have gone.
“every pine needle
quivering”
Lovely stuff.
Thanks Zen.
Time is on its way from winter to spring – a stroll in time from event to event – each event entering either human life, or animals, or miscellanous events… So, the world in 36 ku with feelings all along them, so poetry…
… so much longing
in the owl’s voice
… gathering leaves
shaped as tear drops
A sample to fellow…
Thanks to you both !
So glad you enjoyed this Claire… it was a real pleasure to write with Ashley.