Charcoal smudge and ochre-stained cotton buds line the open eye scanning ghost grey and brown wrinkled skin. Smile. Hopeful tears explode; white tears evaporate in the silence of the day; in every way the earth whispers retreat into evening grace. Wide ground opens arms as far as sight can be. Trust gathers memories. Hand-in-hand wanderContinue reading “Big Sky”
Author Archives: Matthew Pullar
Northbound at dusk
Jeffrey Smart painted this dying day: burnt orange in floating smokestack steam, needle-lights stretching in fluorescent dream, the sojourn of light sinking in silent sway. Daytime paints its canopy away and minutes pass in inches as we glean each moment, weigh each instant gram by gram. Apologies buy flowers; much to say, yet time isContinue reading “Northbound at dusk”
Homecoming
Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel? (William Shakespeare) To the untrained eye, nothing has changed: smoke still billows from chimneys; mornings are dark; alarms wake too early; the mad prince still fools the diplomat with his madness, the sane with his sanity. To the untrained eye, all these cloudsContinue reading “Homecoming”
Expect Delays
The sky is clear but in the distance clouds gather in manifold metallic tones. The road lies open, save the lane where a car met a day that ruptured its way, crushed its bonnet, its schedule; we mouth our complaints. Red messages warn that soon we too will be disrupted. Slower than usual, noContinue reading “Expect Delays”
Count It Loss
Whether misplaced or stolen, the effect is the same: the search, the panic, the retracing of steps, the sense that not an object but an organ, not a possession but a position, has vanished, without trace. Whether passing or lasting, the search seems boundless. The mind must run to what-ifs because you never know: theContinue reading “Count It Loss”
Music for children’s choir
Headphone-bound, children sing as I round the corner. The nonchalance of late morning traffic greets a flutter of flight – black and white feathers – painting the street in uncontrolled strokes: a rise, a swoop, a leap, a fall. Ballet-graced, yet deadly in its implications: too wild, too close to the turmoil of wheels.Continue reading “Music for children’s choir”
All the birds of the freeway
I journey between factories and billboards and trees; needles of light pierce the morning sky, and in the east the vermilion city wakes. Spanning the distance, birds fly in sequence, sweeping sheets, kites, giant gulls across the horizon. When I arrive I will be static, and spark at friction from those who start their dayContinue reading “All the birds of the freeway”
On an enclosure of bees in a honey store
The bee is not afraid of me, I know the butterfly. (Emily Dickinson) Busy as themselves, they bustle in explosion of hum and hive. Contained, less fearsome, they pattern out their piece of wall in splendour of black and Emperor’s yellow. Intricate weaving, a tight-packed fabric of sweetness and protection, this is nothing to startleContinue reading “On an enclosure of bees in a honey store”
The sun shines on Wyndham
The Antarctic wakes us with its morning missive blowing. Swaddled and bubbling, children shiver across the road. Crossing guard, I open my smile, bouncing frozen legs to warm them. To cross the road like a child, I must race and look not to the side. What winter brings will soon be known; the sun stillContinue reading “The sun shines on Wyndham”
10 Ways to Embrace the Ring Road
Embrace it. No other time of day can you sit still, without compunction. Here schedules mean nothing. You may be late; that cannot be stopped. Yet you can stop. You can look at clumps of grass and broccoli gums in wetlands and wonder how they looked before this road was even thought. You can watchContinue reading “10 Ways to Embrace the Ring Road”
The Consolations of Writing 