Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

Bruce Dawe … Homecoming

In poetry on May 24, 2012 at 7:16 pm

Homecoming by Bruce Dawe

All day, day after day, they’re bringing them home,
they’re picking them up, those they can find, and bringing them home,
they’re bringing them in, piled on the hulls of Grants, in trucks, in convoys,
they’re zipping them up in green plastic bags,
they’re tagging them now in Saigon, in the mortuary coolness
they’re giving them names, they’re rolling them out of
the deep-freeze lockers – on the tarmac at Tan Son Nhut
the noble jets are whining like hounds,
they are bringing them home
– curly- heads, kinky hairs, crew-cuts, balding non-coms
– they’re high, now high and higher, over the land, the steaming chow mein,
their shadows are tracing the blue curve of the Pacific
with sorrowful quick fingers, heading south, heading east,
home, home, home – and the coasts swing upward, the old ridiculous curvatures
of earth, the knuckled hill, the mangrove-swamps, the desert emptiness…
in their sterile housing they tilt towards these like skiers
– taxiing in, on the long runways, the howl of their homecoming rises
surrounding them like their last moments (the mash, the splendour)
then fading at length as they move
on to small towns where dogs in the frozen sunset
raise muzzles in mute salute,
and on to cities in whose wide web of suburbs
telegrams tremble like leaves from a wintering tree
and the spider grief swings in his bitter geometry
– they’re bring them home, now, too late, too early.

Numinous …

In poetry on May 15, 2012 at 12:05 pm

The hiss of sea on sand,
The swish of wind in leaves,
The sigh of baby’s breath,
Numinous …

The caress of sweet perfume,
The finesse of chosen words,
The delight of sleep,
Numinous …

The slide of warm fingers,
The rise of quickened hips,
The groan of release,
Numinous …

I find the divine
In things Earthbound.
In wondrous tears
And music’s sweep.
In the tender skin of inner elbows
And inner folds.

Twice Times by AA Milne

In poetry on May 12, 2012 at 1:11 am

I had reason to stumble over this little gem today. Thought I’d share the love.

There were Two Little Bears who lived in a Wood,
And one of them was Bad and the other was Good.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times One –
But Bad Bear left all his buttons undone.

They lived in a Tree when the weather was hot,
And one of them was Good, and the other was Not.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Two –
But Bad Bear’s thingummies were worn right through.

They lived in a Cave when the weather was cold,
And they Did, and they Didn’t Do, what they were told.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Three –
But Bad Bear never had his hand-ker-chee.

They lived in the Wood with a Kind Old Aunt,
And one said “Yes’m,” and the other said “Shan’t!”
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Four –
But Bad Bear’s knicketies were terrible tore.

And then quite suddenly (just like Us)
One got Better and the other got Wuss.
Good Bear muddled his Twice Times Three –
But Bad Bear coughed in his hand-ker-chee!

Good Bear muddled his Twice Times Two –
But Bad Bear’s thingummies looked like new.
Good Bear muddled his Twice Times One –
But Bad Bear never left his buttons undone.

There may be a Moral, though some say not;
I think there’s a moral, though I don’t know what.
But if one gets better, as the other gets wuss,
These Two Little Bears are just like Us.
For Christopher remembers up to Twice Times Ten …
But I keep forgetting where I put my pen.*

* So I have had to write this one in pencil.

Dead of night

In poetry on May 11, 2012 at 3:16 am

Dead of night.
A well,
A sob,
A breath,
Without end.

Dead of night.
A dark,
A touch,
A release,
Without joy.

Dead of night.
In hours.
In days.
Without words.

Dead of night.
A mind,
A loss,
A cry,
Without form.

Dead of night.
Dead of night.


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