This Place is in My Bones

Steampunk poetry evenings are a non-negotiable date in my diary.

Last night,  the first Steampunk Poetry book was launched.  This enchanting compilation of local poems, by people we all know, edited by Lara Kirsten, is available at Steampunk for only R100 – hurry while they are hot!  I wrote about these special evenings a while ago.

I don’t usually write poetry, and at Poetry Night read work by other poets that I love – Chris Mann, Clive Lawrence, Pablo Neruda…  Last night I read my own poem for the first time.  I wrote this after a short visit to Old Kilgobbin a couple of weeks ago. I was astonished at how my car followed the road with such ease, knowing exactly where to go, and, when I walked I could have done so with my eyes closed. I simply knew the way. I guess that after wandering up the same track at least once a day for 20 years, things are etched into my body.  It didn’t make me sad – just amazed – and inspired to write my first poem. One may just lead to another. Who knows?

This Place is in my Bones

Each familiar footfall

Follows the road’s caressing curve.

Frog sounds echo between my ears

Jackal calls creep along my spine

Stars sit on my shoulders, and

Moon shadows cross the path.

Mud squirms between my toes as

Cold water clutches at my hips.

Memory drenched muscles.

Mostly it is the silence that has sunk into my bones

I’ll take the silence with me.