Mandatharra

on the road to the vanishing point
we layered our story
over the Inggarda stories

ice age, crinoids, early
Permian, ancient sea bed,
quartzblow, sandstone
plateau, elevated,
compressed, faulted,
uplifted

on the road of smashed bones
corpses unburied
spat to the side
the road of sliced rubber
we picked up Daniel
his tyre the road’s latest meal
out there on the horizon
heat turns distance to water
and waves
we asked what do you call the blue smudge
map-named for a pastoralist’s wife

in his grandmother’s country
he can’t say
he can’t say
he can’t say the name

on the road to the vanishing point
the road of broken bones and sliced rubber
our tongues strangle names
he can.


Coral Carter (Western Australia)

'you can see forever she said—'

you can see forever she said — we sat in camp chairs over looking cretaceous paleo channels — still there from time when land masses pulled back — cracked and broke — rainforests quaked wet — mountains smashed up — rivers carved new beds with blades of water — and mammals were set to rule

above us jezebels did the butterfly polka from native pine to native pine — laying a pheromone trail on the hilltop breeze — semaphored the sex message in gold and black wing beats against the dense two pm blue — where the moon played peek a boo

out on the lake a slake of water flaked to salt — continued the slow work of glint–encrust–entomb — alarmed wrens jack-knifed into blue bush — a wedge-tail caught the updraft curve disappeared into bright

we read sand’s stories of a hopping mouse love-in — bronze wings’ forage — the leap from feed to flight — around spinifex the snake’s hunting circle — saw where echidnas quarried for the set menu — found curled among ironstone sun dried joey remains

on a hill in the shade of native pines where jezebels still semaphored in gold and black our eyes clung to the silver threaded horizon — we stared back through clean light — thought we saw forever.


Coral Carter (Western Australia)

question

in the room
professional women
their prime painted on
strung with incomes of gold
pearls
family heirlooms
carbon fractured to sparkle
clothed in animal-print faux fur
bounty of the bargain hunters
silks
cashmere
hand weave acquired
on the last tour of the world
and all its islands
bags designed by the
wealthy for the wealthy
(they know how much
a bag should contain)
rest beside shoes
designed for comfort
gold badged and stamped
with a Spaniard’s name.

the afghani woman asks
what are you doing in my country
where criminals and killers and drug lords rule
where women
are shot like birds
and men seek
US dollar compensation
for their loss
less than a house
and a bit more than a donkey


Coral Carter (Western Australia)

Thistle Collector

I am a thistle collector
from roadsides and spare blocks
I pull
roots pale bent fingers
released from soil
as I tug
stalk shapes indent pink on my skin
fingernails stained green
sand clings as if it owns me
aphids smudged black on my breast
snails will be slime bliss bombs for my ducks
I carry thistles in my harvesters arms
smell a cooking stew
someone is using my mother's recipe
the postie skids to give way
handy man paints pickets retain the dream
at the curb side café
morning coffee drinkers
pause
mid sip
I am the thistle collector
my bunch of yellow flowers
nod with every step
and a trail of white seed heads float behind


Coral Carter (Western Australia)


First published in the author's first poetry collection Descended from Thieves (Mulla Mulla Press 2012)

paint flow (a photograph by our featured poet)

Click the image to view a larger version.

Coral Carter (Western Australia)


First published on Coral's photography blog, Rubbish Photographer

Truce

Hot pink feet
tuck into feathered undercarriages.
With a wind-up toy whirr
topknots take off —
fly missile straight
into Father’s scattershot.

Freefall
thump of the plump
dangle headed bodies plucked
woodstove roasted.

We spat lead pellets
Ping! Ting! onto side plates
wreathed with painted violets.

Now
he broadcasts seed.
Calls them in
Whoop! Whoop!
Whoop! Whoop!
I hear them talking —
the hunter and the hunted
together in the garden.


Coral Carter (Western Australia)

Ripppppppppppppppppppppppppples

A silent escape from pond central
onto cave floor sand
spreads to embed rock surfaces
folds through the geology of foothills
runs through the desert dunes
solidifies in glass
grows in petals of pelargonium
leaves of potted plants
arrives in boot soles
invades the kitchen
freezes in the ice cream
waves through the raspberries
and marble cake
steels into the sliced vegetables
knits itself into patterns
embroiders the edge of tea cloths
luxuriates in lace
follows the tines of the icing fork
out into the paddock of fresh raked earth
gathers on the wind
surfaces in the half ripe wheat
flies through a cirrus sky
and ripples across the lake’s salted water.


Coral Carter (Western Australia)

11pm William Street

We drank beer
from bottles
wrapped
in brown paper
smoked joints
spiked with
too much tobacco
ate Thai late
on a Sunday night
when the only light
shone from the cross
while I tried to forget
what I really wanted


Coral Carter (Western Australia)