Membrane Drum Mosaic

Winner of the Writer's Hangout poetry competition, September 1999.


Membrane Drum Mosiac

Invisible tendrils sprout Nature's core,
Entwining with mine,
Tangles of quivering energy
That allow me to splinter free
Restraints of mankind,
And hear in my own way,
With my four and Sixth senses.

Slight turquoise breaths enticed green giants to dance,
A rustling I would never know as sounds,
But know as tingles of cool warmness teasing my skin,
And the lime yellow taste, raw and cool in my lungs.
A tiny diamond spinning out sticky silver over green leaves,
Earthy, the crystalline scent of rainwater floating through air,
Sixth sense of Nature's breezes slinking up behind, and away again.
In cool shelter from the ashen insanity of modern living,
I can hear the skittish wind, free and unruly.

Gulping up sand, the white horses flew rataplan up the beach,
Another racket I could only hear
By sharp grinding of marshy sand between toes, rough billows licking at my feet,
And the silvery sensation of the briny, bitterly drying my lips,
Dark swells, heaving up, proud and victorious to cower before rock,
The sandy essence of the spray, salty, yet sweetly ambrosial,
Insight of waves charging up from behind to claim what is theirs,
In refuge from summer day's fishglue bitumen,
I can hear the defiant ocean, wild and unpredictable.

Stirring life from deep slumber, Nature's milk descended,
Yet another fracas I would never hear,
Only feel as heavy drops splattered down, drumming the fractured clay,
And the intoxicating flavour, burning black ants out of their empires,
Firebrick petals opening to reveal shiny wings, a furry Lilliputian soaked in nectar,
A dry wetness, sienna fragrances moistening dry, hot skin,
The inkling of frenetic activity under rocks and sand, animals emerging.
No escape from the searing light, but isolated from humankind,
I can hear the harsh rainfall, rare and precious.

I hear everything,
My noisy world, not the deaf person's silent world
As is perceived by mankind,
I can feel, I can taste, I can see, I can smell, I can sense,
Electric purple networks of neurons budding into invisible tendrils,
Interweaving with Nature's own.......
I hear everything
And I hear my  way.


Childhood Works

Siobhan's Glass (short story)

Noises of Silent Worlds (poetry)

Membrane Drum Mosiac (poetry)

The Sunroom (short story)

Adult Works

Breaking Free (short story)

Coil (poetry)

Trouble Pooping? (birth satire)

Wyld Womyn (column)

Explict Prose & Poetry

copyright © Lisa Morgan 2007-2012