James Sutherland-Smith Poems

Surfacing I see the great sun sink
Behind a pier which takes
The oil pipeline to deep water.
A fisherman spreads his mat
...

Do not trust the stars.
They arrive when words sleep
and induce the ghost of pure noise.
The Milky Way reels above you.
...

She dreams she has been robbed; her orchid,
her clutter of cosmetics, tapestries,
a statue of Ganesha - not even
a stocking trails from and open drawer,
...

Sometimes I used to wake up with moonlight tucked up
to my chin like warm smothering wool
and hear drops of water smash into the bath.
Then, wanting no more sound than the gentle
...