L E O N I E . W I S E » i am

Leonie — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 13:23:42 +0000

i am the first coffee of the day
i am a broken bottle
i am the handwritten letter
i am the last page
i am your word for 2010
i am borrowed time
i am the lid you can’t get off the jar
i am the stuff collecting in the back of your couch
i am underscores
i am the squeaky wheel
i am the cheque that is in the mail
i am your first bite of watermelon
i am the perfect spiral
i am unsubmitted
i am a birthday party limousine ride
i am an empty box of matches
i am the smell of your grandmother’s talcum powder
i am the dead plant on the windowsill
i am the piano tuner
i am the mice in the barn
i am the dust kicked up from doing doughnuts in the holden
i am a swing made from an old tyre
i am the promise of things to come
i am the old man’s slippers
i am forgotten stories
i am burt munro’s vision
i am more than my 800 words a day

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Leonie — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 19:00:11 +0000

i am the wood fire burning beneath your outdoor bath
i am the dawn chorus
i am a cup of sugar borrowed from a neighbour
i am your mother’s favourite recipe
i am light filtering through the trees
i am the angel of death
i am the broken wing of an owl
i am black candles, lit for casting spells
i am the clock ticking loudly on your mantlepiece
i am a collection of shells from the beach
i am a stack of recycled paper
i am a stolen credit card used to purchase a brand new pair of shoes
i am a basket of freshly picked cherries
i am a lock that’s missing the key
i am prayer flags
i am a secret that’s dying to be told
i am the ribbon you wear in your hair
i am unknown, even to my friends
i am forgetfulness
i am the harley my grandparent’s used to ride
i am a pen-ink drawing of aphrodite
i am gum, stuck to the footpath
i am the tickets to a show you’ve always wanted to see
i am melted butter, dripping from corn-on-the-cob
i am a broken fanbelt
i am the art of non-conversation
i am all the colours of autumn
i am valuable

29

Leonie — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 10:29:02 +0000

i am the wind screaming across the canterbury plains
i am the untranslatable language of dolphins
i am undiscovered life-forms at the bottom of the ocean
i am the last cookie in the jar
i am all those words you wish you’d never spoken aloud
i am the arms of time, pulling us all a little closer to death
i am in two places at the same time
i am the five pound note that went through the wash in a pocket of your jeans
i am one left shoe and it’s accompanying shoe-lace
i am the blanket draped over your legs for warmth
i am the sun kissing your face
i am the unexplored places in the universe
i am understanding
i am all the books yet to be published
i am the memorial to all we have lost
i am the cotton-wool-soft feel of your lips touching mine
i am the pathway, worn by travellers
i am jumbled the sentence
i am ; used incorrectly
i am nonsense rhymes read aloud to a confused audience
i am the feeling you get when you skip instead of walking
i am the poet with writer’s block
i am the pre-dawn fisherman
i am burnt toast
i am the arms of your lover
i am a poem waiting to be read
i am what’s waiting on the other side of the silence
i am a borrowed library book
i am lost