Beyond the veranda, clouds
toward the ocean seem tense.
Mist rises from teacups.
The creek will have torn
its banks into the ocean,
the waves casting up
nautilus for careful eyes.
A fallen poinciana crosses
their new yard, the split
wood raw, green, and fresh.
Waiting with no particular hurry,
they become caught in the air
still heavy with charge.
Something rises from the saturated earth.
Francis Thompson is a keen poet and even keener Star Trek re-watcher. At fifteen, Grin and Tonic performed their poetry around North Queensland. Recently, Melbourne City of Literature commissioned them to write a poem for the Ulyanovsk Literary Tram event, which was translated into Russian and performed by local writers.