The Boat
All day I row a dinghy
and at night rest the oars
within their rollocks
yet I move increasingly asleep
or wide awake towards the vast horizon
lit by stars.
New Zealand looms
and islands pass while I plout
the paddocks of the sea.
This wooden boat cannot last
none ever do–
packed with house and garden
dolls and pens and clothes and books.
Now I see that all my life
I’ve taken shortcuts–
I garden with a knife–
but the Pacific Ocean offers
no quick way
My tangles of concern
are nets not meant for me.
What I must do is row
and rest and marvel at the stars
until I feel a bump
then the boat becomes a coffin
made of leaves
Kate Llewellyn
Ghazal
Its branches bloom with stars
As the tree laces the sky ...
The Milky Way watches the flowering of Mars
As the tree laces the sky.
Night’s gift, children at dusk
Surrounded by waves look calmly upwards.
In Russia, Taiwan and Uganda, it’s free
All may watch even soldiers or Czars
As the tree laces the sky.
The moon, a ball stuck among branches.
Marvel as prisoners through branches of bars
As the tree laces the sky
Once, an owl swooped from this tree
And made itself legend.
Among the smoke from cooking tagines, the scent of apricots,
Saffron and lamb even in bazaars
The tree laces the sky.
Kate, beware of forgetting both work and heaven
Hints remain while you sit drinking wine
In a café called Escobars
The tree laces the sky.
Kate Llewellyn
What I Have Lost
Great Grandfather’s stamp collection
A gold sovereign
My mother’s silver bracelet (in a sand dune)
Friends
Watches galore
Some hearing
Opportunities
A brace of lovers
Several stone
Parents
A dinner set (at Central Station)
A husband
Luggage
Recipes
My father’s moth-eaten maroon woollen bathers
Teeth
Desire for revenge.
Kate Llewellyn