Tuesday, 22 March 2022

Three Poems by Jan Napier


 

Moth

 

While I was out

it hatched

 

split and quit its

chrysalis

 

on a first leaf

dull wet wings

 

folded to a thorax

boxy and squat.

 

lumpen    stubby

moveless till moonlight

 

wrote silver

on russet

 

limned antennae

fanned and feathery

 

moth launched

an unsure orbit

 

around porch lamp

a bright shadow

 

brushing

the cusp of dusk.



Patchwork Prayers


Listen to the silence as the world wakes —

factory stacks stand cold and unsmoking.

Our patchwork prayers are almost answered.

 

Watch all the shapes that turning birds make

our joy ballooning with every motion,

listen to the silence as the world wakes.

 

Smile at ashen skies so slowly blueing

while great whales sing in shipless oceans.

Our patchwork prayers so nearly answered.

 

Polar cubs play on glaciers cooling,

frog spawn froths, growing into commotion.

Listen to the silence as the world wakes.

 

In weedy streets teddy bears are blooming

with these painted rainbows, such loving notions:

our patchwork prayers may soon be answered.

 

In backyards families are moon viewing,          

clean air they’re sharing a healing potion.

Listen to the silence as the world wakes.

Our patchwork prayers are almost answered.



Squamous


Youth a burn of merry go rounds and laughing clowns,

zinc swiped on by mum mopped off after goodbye,

 

Ambre Solaire, flirty skirts, hat’s a dirty

word, sleeves a modesty affected by the old.

 

Skin seared and salty peels, small storm of foreboding

ignored. Red spots erupt, in years less volatile,

less radiant. Gods in white (no haloes),

 

evict wilding nuclei, emergent purple nudging

from under dressings. Dermis distends, encircles

 

brow and socket tight and shiny as a child’s balloon.

Eye squinched. Lid gibbous. The world unreadable.

 

Darkness passes. Stitches inflicted by fingers intent

on excision of sins held by cells, unpicked.

 

Lessened yet again, I adjust akubra, squint

sunwards, sky a pethidine that doesn’t numb.


Jan Napier is a Western Australian poet. Her work has been showcased in journals and anthologies both within Australia and overseas.

Jan’s first poetry collection Thylacine was launched in 2015. Her haiku collection Day Moon was published in 2020, as was her third poetry collection Listening to Frost. Jan is on the committee of the Out of the Asylum Writer’s Group, (OOTA), which is based in Fremantle Western Australia.      



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