Our small cul-de-sac
ghostly and peaceful at once
is perfectly still
under the three points of light
from street lamps and rising dawn.
There are some who like
the wild, wet cold of Melbourne,
etcetera. There is no
accounting for tastes, my dear.
My aunt’s wide warm smile
greets me now from the DVD
my cousin sent me
of the recent funeral:
the photo on her coffin.
To go deep, I play.
How solitaire frees my thoughts,
poems release them —
so I find myself able
to float on those depths, then dive.
Oh splendid sunset
peach-coloured over the hills,
the navy-blue hills
ringing the fading valley
where the light starts to withdraw.
For a long moment
light suffuses the valley
with warm clarity.
Outlines of trees and houses
glow as light pauses, withdraws.
Like a dying fire
behind criss-crossing branches
the blaze before the embers
when the light flares and withdraws.
He ran to the car
(we’d paused at the traffic lights).
‘Quick,’ I said, ‘Get in.’
He collapsed on the back seat
laughing, his dark curls bouncing.
Some of these poems are autobiographical, some are entirely fictional, and some are a mixture of both. The intention is art rather than self-expression. I don't allow factual details to get in the way of poetry! (I do seek emotional truth.)
They are works in progress, and may be subject to revision without notice. Completed versions appear in my books. Nevertheless copyright applies to all texts found here.
Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your posts as much as possible.