A pocketful of pins

John Roff

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Introduction These shorter poems have been fun to write, and I hope you enjoy reading them.

Thanks to My daughter Iona for the cover design suggestion and her collaboration on the poem ‘Parts of a wedding’. My wife Jo for being a wonderfully steadfast, loving, reliable and encouraging woman and for helping me find the space and confidence to write. My mother Sheila Roff for encouraging and supporting me as a writer. My father Bryan Roff for his quiet validation. Several friends who have let me know how much they enjoy my writing – Mitch, Alice, Torin, Dan, Pat, Allen, Dave, Heather and others - I deeply appreciate your affirmation and response.

Published by: WESSA Share Net P O Box 394, Howick, 3290, SOUTH AFRICA Tel: (033) 3303931 www.wessa.org.za ISBN No. 978-1-919991-98-6 First Edition: August 2013 ©John Roff 2013

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Index

It is uncomfortable 3

Guitar players 4

Teachers of teenagers 5

Library 6

Puffadder 7

Snow 8

Two approaches to

the winter sky 9

Dancing with tradition 10

Loose tea brewing 11

City moon 12

DSTV 13

That’s all 14

Poetic mind 15

Home 16

Not lonely 17

At last 18

Yacht 19

In the night 20

Call 21

Projection 22

Hunter 23

Second life 24

Parts of a wedding 25

At the fence 26

Clean slate 27

Called while walking 28

Tree top 29

Breathing space 30

For one second 31

I witness the

crossing over 32

Catching stars 33

Sneeze 34

Time of the month 35

Rain 36

Snowstorm 37

Days after 38

Crinums 39

Depth 40

Buying scotch 41

There is no

benevolence tonight 42

Cloud men, Cloud woman 43

Playground miracle 44

On the wind 45

3

It is uncomfortable

It is uncomfortable to have a pin in your pocket they get your attention keep you awake help you look sharp.

But I would rather have a pocket full of pins than a fat wallet, shiny car, six-figure income, and the slow spiral into numbness.

4

Guitar players

Under the lights, fingers fire a jet of orange notes directly at the jugular of distraction;

it is just as hot to turn and watch the faces feel sonic flames,

they all gaze back and set again the strummed strings blazing.

Inspired while watching Guy Buttery & Nibs van der Spuy.

5

Teachers of teenagers often encounter

Choreographed indifference.

6

Library

Cool quiet corners to drink the rain of words on pages.

7

Puffadder

Dappled rippling stream of snake,

smoothing soil, chinning stones, confident as death.

8

Snow

Smooth and gentle cheek-soft magic linger silent poison.

9

Two approaches to the winter sky

Leafless branches claw blue emptiness; bold aloes raise red goblets.

10

Dancing with tradition

There’s a lady in a black burqah carrying her shoes and turning the road into a stage with every sprung step flicked up and skipping to that secret tune,

her smiling feet leap off the tar again again again again. The burqah is a garment worn by women in some Islamic traditions; it covers the body, leaving only the eyes visible.

11

Loose tea brewing

Tight-fisted flowers persuaded into opening by the sun.

12

City moon

A steel circle in the gun-metal sky, a spotlight

seeking solace in the soft haze of warm streetlamps. Written in collaboration with Daniel Dix

13

DSTV

Satellite dishes blossom from a squatter camp,

reaching for the gold sun of a better life.

14

That's all

Must every poem have a hidden meaning? I simply want to tell you that the pearls of dew suspended in a spider's web are beautiful.

15

Poetic mind

Layers and layers and layers of meaning; it is a way we see the world, you fall into the sudden sea of poet thought and suddenly nothing is simple.

16

Home

I may have hatched out in a hospital bed but I was born in the open space of wilderness;

there is more to me than this temporary stay in the hotel of suburbia, beyond the measured street lights, untamed wisdom waits.

17

Not lonely

On top of a tree, washed with wind and swinging,

one cheeky leaf reaches up to tickle the blue belly of the sky.

18

At last

I have lost my long blue flute and found a bright orange drum.

19

Yacht

As if there were some kind of god

attuned to catch our

whispered prayers,

we hold out aching sails

into the wind,

and wait.

20

In the night

From one candle a flower blooms,

yellow-bladed singularity eternally opposed to emptiness,

a silent petal repelling miles of flailing darkness.

21

Call

Acres of silence surround the quiet soul awake to night’s full noon.

Listen…

the infinite distances, beckoning.

22

Projection of leaf shadows by the sun

Light-netted, a shoal of fish swim out awhile beneath the branches of their sea then shimmer into smooth soft grass.

23

Hunter

On a hill, standing, there is a man, his very being aching,

looking for the lion within.

24

Second life

In a corner of a churchyard lies a hollowed grindstone, filled with water and inscribed, in memory of one who keeps on giving back with every bird that frisks, then soars from bathing in that clean fresh pool.

25

Parts of a wedding

Rain walks across the sunset like a girl in a grey wisp dress.

Sun behind clouds pours light on her path.

The skyline is smudged by the brush of her feet.

The earth throws flying ants like confetti.

Written with Iona Roff (age 9)

26

At the fence

A long taut grid of woven steel keeps me from touching fields of winter grass,

but the hands of hope, in the welcome sway and rustle of a million silken stalks, will not be contained.

27

Clean slate

Years, grumblings, feud, unhappiness, finally a long night - coffee, silence, sherry, forgiveness;

next day, he picks dog turds off the lawn and greets the morning with a cup of tea.

28

Called while walking

The cliffs above beseech me like the living things they are, to loose my sweating hold upon the briefcase of conformity and sink these thirsty fingers into soothing stone that always rewards departure from the familiar with clean cold conviction.

29

Tree top

Summer she was a green-draped swaying shelter, haven friend-of-birds cheerful sort of place,

later, ungreened by weeks of fierce brittling light, her taut brown canvas hands finally let Autumn go.

30

Breathing space

Inspired by John Cage.

31

For one second, high above

Sweeter to me than any human music, a Bateleur sang, its raucous toad-like bark of a call charged with all the hope of wild places, where dreams still grow.

The Bateleur is an eagle found in remote parts of the African bush.

32

I witness the crossing over

Cool magic of the round mirror dissolves at moondown,

sunup draws together all the dozy elements of day, re-convening light’s warm work.

33

Catching stars

I throw the poem out onto the tide and wave of all that is, hoping to hook a fish like me; for it is in that true unloneliness we are affected by the shine of purpose.

Longing for a bite, I must play out my lines into the dark, perhaps to catch a star that, moving, does not move too much.

34

Sneeze

For once, instead of shouting, I sit down and watch a troop of comfortable monkeys in the upper branches of a Plane tree picking buds like peas, and snacking without haste.

A muffled sneeze from up there makes me think of how alike we are, the apes and I, instead of seeing motley fruit-thieves I discern a kindred body, and share my blocked-up nose with joy.

35

Time of the month

I know I’m not a woman and I’ll never understand, I’m sorry that it’s so painful for some of you and so bloody inconvenient,

but could ‘that time of the month’ ever be celebrated? Is it not beautiful to hear creation’s ancient rhythm singing through you, reminding us of birth, fertility, growth, beauty - all that is so good and yes! in every wondrous woman?

36

Rain

Splashing up from scarlet flowers into open empty air –

a skyward flock of red-winged starlings.

I wanted rain, but a cloud of birds was the water I needed.

37

Snowstorm

A spinning swarm around the sun, light flakes of snow blot the rain and fall, in little living silences;

some land, as bold as bees, right on my warm and hopeful tongue, some drop to earth sighing, stop, and blink into the grass.

38

Days after

Snow lies sleek on the soft rolling couch of the hills, like a scatter of cats with white tums to the sun, all fast asleep in no hurry to move.

39

Crinums

White night flowers exhaling sweetness, dark dappled shade under a still moon.

40

Depth

Sodden sea sky rain tears trickle low-slung cloud a bulging canvas bursting bucketfuls blustering deluge surge flood torrents millions upon millions gushing litres gushing

the steady sea consumes it all, keeping rhythm, not blinking.

41

Buying scotch

An extended family of whiskies, like pipers on parade, hiding their true nature the way only a clear liquid can conceal its treasure;

rows of bottles running down the shelves draw up to mind the bubbling water of their starting, those peaty streams which catch the North Atlantic rain and hold but never tame that churning wild water.

When you reach out to take that bottle you are not buying whisky you are grasping Scotland's good clean air, woven with peat and kings and dreams, and the bold West wind blowing.

42

There is no benevolence tonight

Stepping out to face the pounding gun of wind whipping trees across the moon, lacerating clouds,

no mercy

hammers my face ripping off the pub's warm shell,

run for the car and cringe behind a thin windscreen below the torn and glaring silver eye.

43

Cloud men

Extruded

like shaving foam

from a brewing storm,

a hundred rumbling

bellies bulge

into a still blue sea.

Cloud woman

Please look up;

as if in prayer,

one cloud

edges the cautious pillow

of her pregnancy

into an open sky.

44

Playground miracle

One wrist-flick, a Frisbee is born, and a thrown-out plastic lid turns into hope.

45

On the wind

Flicking like soft leather cups with supple whiskered edges, Rhino's ears scoop the air;

perhaps they hear extinction on the wind, perhaps it does not trouble them the way it troubles us.