Alan Brayne – a retired teacher and lecturer from England now living in Malta. Recently self-published a book of poems, fiction and essays, Digging for Water. The author of three novels set in Indonesia: Jakarta Shadows, Kuta Bubbles, and Lombok Flames. Interests include art, film noir, the I Ching, philosophy, walking. Just recovered from working out how to set up my website: alanbrayne.com.
Today is a day of red balloons,
Of bathers gathered gaily by the sea,
Of brass bands tooting crowds,
Fluffy dogs and fluffy clouds,
Cavorting kites.
Today is a day of dreamy blue,
Sails white as a fleet of swans,
A day when fat bees sing,
When sleepy wasps don’t sting,
And jellyfish don’t bite.
Today is a day of half-heard songs,
Strummed mandolins on the breeze,
When bottles filled with sand
Drift in from far-off lands,
And flags flap bright.
Today is a day when we belong
On this planet blue and strange,
A day when every sense
Is quickened and intense,
And today turns snug tonight.
OLIVE TREES
I love the olive trees, how weathered
they are, how old like my face
in the mirror, beaten and twisted, and yet
they stand tall.
I love their secret shade of green,
the self-effacing blush, the hint of pollen
on leaves brushed smooth,
no shine remains, almost drab.
Around them flowers show off like
noisy children, lights that blink and flash
and squeal their yellow, daddy look at me,
please daddy look.
The olives rise above this noise, cool
but not standoffish, looking on and
slyly present, a hundred years
they’ve been here, maybe more.
In gnarly browns their branches snake,
trunks scorched dry, as if they must
feel pain but they feel none,
these ancient serpents are wise.
And this is how we should live, chained
as we are in time, live calm, with a wisdom bred
of the earth, repaying the gift of birth
without ever taking from ourselves.
LIZARD
And up it pops, startled, helter-skelter,
Along the brink of a wall of stones,
But then, when I walk past,
It scuttles to the shelter
Between the cracks.
Its cold skin needs the sun, but dare not stay
When a shadow flits across
Its fitful body, and with a start,
It jolts back to its bolt-hole
In the dark.
A life in hiding, apprehensive
Snatches of sunshine in shock
Flashes, a world of streaks of light,
In which we shrink in fear
And live in fright.
Yes, one day my little lizard
Will end up someone’s lunch:
But people die a million times,
Lizards die just once.
Poetry in this post: © Alan Brayne
Published with the permission of Alan Brayne