It starts with the ocean in the sky, that sea
in outer space, dense shoals of debris
comet-fragments, asteroid-remnants, swimming
blindly into the Earth’s gaseous net. Each meteor
is finned flesh: silver scales, a gaping mouth,
a luminous flash. And we are the night anglers
who would hook each blazing fish. All our lives
we’ve known how to wish.
© Greg O'Connell
It has been a privilege over the past year to take part in a small poetry workshop group in which Greg O'Connell is one of the members. Greg has a background of writing children's poetry. From there he has expanded into writing poetry for adults also. His sense of word play and musicality extends into his adult poems, making them a joy to listen to. He is also a supportive and perceptive commenter on other people's poems, and his suggestions are always pertinent.
I am grateful to Greg for permission to republish this poem, which originally appeared in the Christchurch Press, as my Tuesday Poem this week.
Greg was born in Oamaru and has lived in Christchurch and the West Coast. A number of his poems have been published in the School Journal, and also in A Treasury of New Zealand Poems for Children, edited by Paula Green. He also travels to schools to present interactive performance poetry shows and workshops. There is a very full and interesting biography on Greg's website.
For more Tuesday Poems, visit the main hub site.