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2005
- Saloni M presents The Shades of Love
Matt
Hetherington
Matt Hetherington is a
musician and writer based in Collingwood, Melbourne. His first collection
of poetry, entitled Surface, was released through PRECIOUS
PRESS in 2004, and a chapbook of haiku and senryu written in India
will appear in June of this year. He is currently Vice-President of Overload
Poetry Inc.
Most recent web publications
are: Three
Poems (in Masthead) and Several
poems (in
Malleable Jangle).
He also contributed
an essay for Saloni M in 2003: Notes
on Barbarianism.
Contact:
eyeskyguy@hotmail.com
Some Of Us
i
lie with the future
curled and
still inside of me,
all-knowing
and unpursued;
mocked by familiar
secrets
and inhaling
tides of light,
i hover gently,
with a hundred suns
igniting on
the inside of my eyelids.
i can smell your thoughts,
your flesh
as fresh as rainwater,
and then as
smooth and warm
as chocolate
in the softness of the mouth.
i gaze into your mystery
and your eyes
stare back.
love lifts me on its current
and turns me
like a leaf;
i sway with
gratitude,
i writhe in
budding selflessness,
i improvise
toccatas on the surface of your spirit;
you blind my
mouth with your mouth,
give your depths
to my hands,
close my eyes
with your sighs,
bless my ears
with your breath.
and so we worship on,
in deep and
sonorous caves,
and night breaks
over us like a slow wave.
© Matt
Hetherington 2005.
When
It's Finished
we sit in our chairs
in a too-brown room;
there has been no
sun for days,
the phone is off the
hook again,
the dirty laundry
is piling up,
and the bathroom pipes
are choking on hair.
i can no longer be calm.
my mind spins as fast
as the world spins;
i can’t speak of it
anymore, but my heart is a rotten box.
there’s not much to
be said now anyway,
and she is saying
it repeatedly.
we shared this house once, but now it’s hers again;
i have the haven of
my bed,
and sometimes even
of my room,
so what the fuck do
i care ?
it’s all the anger i can’t take –
her screaming and
her sobbing and her howls of pain;
she haunts her own
house like a vengeful ghost,
and in the quiet of
the night i often hear weeping
which isn’t even happening.
i’ve tried to justify the distance of my loneliness,
but her eyes – they’re
two crooked black holes of impatience,
and her mouth is a
bitter slit.
i can’t look. i can’t
speak.
i don’t know what
to do.
© Matt
Hetherington 2005.
New
Mornings
a poem on blue paper
for the one
i am coming to love
more deeply
than the dark heart
of the dilated
night
before it opens
its great eye
first thing when waking
her soothing
warmth
all around
me like a scented bath
her patient
silence
before the
day begins to groan & stretch
then her smiling
upon me
so that i may also
smile
& the room fills
with the world
& an ease i
cannot speak
& must write
© Matt
Hetherington 2005.
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