Moreton Mirror
I nodded to a stranger
by the ferry pier,
and the stranger nodded back,
his eyes holding the flat shimmer
of the bay at low tide.
When his brow folded
it was like the mangroves bending
to the southerly;
I felt my own lines deepen.
Every small movement I made,
he echoed —
until I greeted him
as though we’d hauled crab pots together.
The lie tasted of salt.
Ah, this tide‑glass man!
Fibber, mate, dream‑bloomer,
railway‑yard philosopher,
dry‑throated drinker of nor’easter dust —
he will follow me
down Annerley’s back lanes
when the jacarandas have dropped
their mauve confetti,
when all the neighbours
are behind closed insect screens.
We hook arms;
I lose the thread of time,
the shopping list, the rent due —
but not him.
Even in the dark under the Storey Bridge,
he stays,
pulling me home along
the river’s black ribbon.
the shopping list, the rent due —
but not him.
Even in the dark under the Storey Bridge,
he stays,
pulling me home along
the river’s black ribbon.
.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 22nd, 2025 03:05
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 27
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Cheeky Missy, Lorna
Offline)
Comments12
Don't we all have this mirror image the reverse reflection of ourselves that we sometimes recognize in others, some of whom become shadows. A lovely write. Cryptic and deserving of a fave
Great write
Thanks Norman, means a lot and much appreciated 🙏🏻🕊️
most welcome, keep them coming
🕊️🙏🏻 will do, thanks Norman.
Rik
Set on Brisbane’s river edge, Moreton Mirror drifts from a simple meeting at the ferry pier into something far more uncanny. With imagery steeped in tide, mangrove, and jacaranda, it folds the landscape into a portrait of connection (or reflection ) that hopefully lingers long after the last line.
Hmm. I remain baffled.
The poem suggests that sometimes our truest reflection and the most commanding companion comes from within, surfacing in a stranger or a reflection on the water. That double can carry us, distract us, even guide us home, whether we welcome it or not.
Mmm, thank you.
Most welcome 🙏🏻🕊️
A fine write, arqios. Great illustration.
Thanks Jerry🙏🏻🕊️
Half of none could be some in a dreamscape
Beautiful. 🌹
This frankly is intriguing, the seeming acquaintance more of a ghost than tangible, if I comprehend your lines. Curious and haunting, excellently rendered with nigh exquisite imagery and a lingering poignancy. Thank you for sharing.
I gave a stranger at the ferry pier a polite nod, and he nodded back. His eyes looked like the flat, glimmering bay at low tide. When he furrowed his brow, I did the same. Every small gesture I made, he copied without missing a beat. Before I knew it, I was talking to him as if we’d been fishing together for years—and that false sense of friendship tasted salty.
I began to think of him as my “tide-glass man”—a storyteller and daydreamer who, for some reason, stuck by me. He followed me home down quiet back streets after the jacaranda flowers had fallen and long after everyone else had shut themselves indoors.
We linked arms, and I completely lost track of time, my shopping list, even the rent I still had to pay. But he never lost focus. Even in the darkness under the Storey Bridge, he stayed with me, guiding me along the river’s black path back home.
Yikes.
Yikes, indeed🙏🏻🕊️
Good write A.
Thanks O🕊️🙏🏻
So well done - beautiful
Thank you so much, Lorna🙏🏻🕊️
Could be a story from the 'Twilight Zone'.
A lot to think about. Good one.
Thanks Kevin. I loved that series!
Fine words Rik, we all eventually go home.
Andy
What a beautiful poem!!!!
The way you have connected the imagery of the bay, mangroves and the tide to describe the connection between 2 strangers is stunning. Well done!!
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