Rising two metres rising

White tops dart through the bay,
Pretty in the sunshine, a creamy flicker on a jewel-like sea,
Harmlesss
But harbouring a more aggressive mood
If you swing the wrong way.

Near gale, the VHF reports.
Easterly. 25 knots rising 35 in the afternoon.
Swell report, one metre rising,
Seas becoming rough.

The boats bob gently in the afternoon sun
Is it coming through? Or missed us?
Usually it comes earlier than they predict
And our emerald bay turns to muddy syrup
With grandiose waves challenging you to creep nearer.

Emergency report: front coming straight over
Gale force winds, 45 knots plus.
No, this one’s a biggy, the lowest low in a decade:
Looking at 65 knots plus, hold on to your hats!

We get a hurricane overhead
and it never even makes the world frame.

Cow Parsley

Red Bike Spinning

Dreamt you and I were cycling in the dark,
it was pitch black, supernaturally black,
no street lights nor building lights,
not even a star.

You were cycling fast, overtaking me
you didn't see the slow moving car in front,
there were no lights.

I saw too late, gave a strangled cry,
too late, a head on collision.

You and bike flew over the car,
together spinning.
Your bike was red,
it was the only colour I could see.
I thought you were must be dead
but I couldn't reach you.

Later (after wading through marsh land
and grappling with giant poisonous cacti)
our paths crossed again.
You were right as rain
while I still felt the trauma.