MICHAEL BEAUMONT-CONNOP


Michael Beaumont-Connop was recently a featured poet at the QPF 2005 (Brisbane,
Australia) and at readings around the place at Speedpoets, Up Front club, Maleny,
Outsiders and Noosa. He has had poetry published in the QPF anthology, Tsumami,
Speedpoets, Outsiders and Famous Reporter in Australia.






The Sounds of Love

We started in separate rooms to talk, then
We moved to separate beds in the same room.
It was so easy talking together, that
We decided to move to the same bed,
For ease of conversation,
But a big bed, in the next room, so we had space,

Yet we really wanted closeness
And looking at each other was important.
While we talked,
The eyes, especially the eyes, and the mouth, as
We spoke, we moved and watching the movement was important.
We hadn't seen each other move like that,
Before clothes,
Soon fingers touching and arm wrestling proved to be
Irresistible auxiliaries to our speech. Diphthongs and pronouns
Made our meaning plainer, interrupted only by the
Excited language of the body,
The commas and pauses of our frequent need to pee.
We fell in language with each other.
We made language again and again.
Seven completely different languages one night, and now,
Every room of our house has bookshelves filled to overflowing.






Yes, No or Maybe

The ocean is ambivalent, in and out, in and out
If each grain of sand is a decision, it is no wonder
The ocean is ambivalent

I walk beside it every day to check on its
State of mind
But each day is the same, high low or in-between
The ocean is ambivalent

The signs of its decision-making are all that are
Left behind
Shells, weed, the occasional fish, sand
And so much sand
And if every grain of sand is a decision
It is no wonder
The ocean is ambivalent

The gannet folds its wings and death defyingly
Dives
It pierces the ocean as a feathered spear
No ambivalence there
The hermit crab leaves its shell and nakedly
Scurries in search
Through the ocean as an edible meal
No ambivalence there

As the ocean I sit and grind away at my millions
Of sand grains
And until I commit my stance of ambivalence
I am forever an empty man






Sea Bed

The cloth of your top clung to your skin
In the haze creating a curtain
Barely disguising your breasts cavorting in the heat waves
In the heat waves, ocean waves, eyes wave invitations
To come and play, the bay was ours
Clothes dropped across the sandy floor
Laughing and naked beneath blankets of sea
Eyes wide open capturing it all like a feeding whale
Engorging senses, tattooing memory, side-stepping time
Pillow fighting waves, the day was ours.






Going Home (For Tea)

I'm in freefall
And it's the time of my life
My parachute's the clear night sky
And it's full of holes
Holes that look like stars
So I'm in freefall
And it's so far down to my feet
Which are looking more and more like leaves
In this Autumnal solar wind
I'm in freefall
Just waiting to hit
No rip cords, no brakes, just a wide open space
And why does the twilight come so fast
Cause I can hardly see your figure
In the fast receding past
I'm in freefall
With no going home feeling
I'm drunk on the breath of flowers
And my only answer
Is a tea cup
Filled with a water soaked moon.



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