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Refuge Cove

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Ominous ocean














Driving into the future

Driving west with the future gloriously uncertain
we stopped for a photo near the Twelve Apostles
and later her alone, leaping weightless
over the river at Apollo Bay.

I remember us walking the moon-shaped
curve of the long beach, the motel room
filled with the sound of the sea, thinking
this was the end of something, or the beginning.

Next morning, I hauled her oversized photos inside
and waited by the printing presses,
solid and impenetrable as the metal sea,
trying to imagine her living here.

We took the inland way home,
left the long blue fringe behind us,
in the back of the car, her art
rolled up in rumbling cardboard tubes.


Prom bird

Wren is just genus
Blue descriptive
Superb superfluous


Refuge Cove

Above the sea in slanted light,
the earth before me blunted
by an impassable shadow,
the bay and an unbroken sea of calm
converge, two arms tapering
to distance and swirls of yellow sand
separating bay from stillness,
calm from swirling chaos, lines of wind
and swell pushing slowly past and away.

Behind, the cliffs are already in shadow
But the sun falls on this calm place,
the sun falls still on these untroubled waters.


New Camping

Canvas has been replaced by
branded versions of nylon
but the architecture remains,
poles soaring beyond fine fly-wire mesh
to an impossible apex,
a mountaineering space backlit
like stained glass, rising
from pegged earth
to awkward crescendo,
an airy cathedral
cradling the silver tubing
of a flickering Maglite torch.



At some time, over central Australia
we met air that had been disturbed,
and we rocked back and forth, gently at first
then more strongly, a pitching with the sense
that we were falling or bucking, or riding
a wave of air that, had sometime in the past,
passed over a mountain range or tangled
itself with another system, a trough that spiralled
across a continent, until we met it
and felt the history of the air
in the movement of our bodies
that were jostled gently, or firmly
through the passage of this stiff metal shell
crossing over into a new front.
Flying over Australia

The interior,
cresselated brown
featureless, like the bottom of the sea,
ridge, brown-splattered
with the shadows of clouds.
It is the colour of ore: brown, orange,
stained with the accumulated minerals
of millennia.

Later on, far north
the scattered clouds, white
below us, throwing down hundreds
of cool imaginary lakes.

Warrick Wynne headshotWarrick Wynne is a Melbourne poet and teacher who has been published widely in Australia. He has three published books of poetry.

Sea image from Shutterstock

Topic tags: Warrick Wynne, poetry



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Existing comments

Your set of poems by Warrick Wynne was most welcome and soothing. The sheer simplicity and calmness of his carefully balanced language was a delight . The sense of geography, wind and water was gently conveyed and the rhythms fell easily ... Thank you.

Peter Kiernan | 15 November 2013  

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