Quietly Surprising

(Found poem: Cryptic crossword clues)

One enters 

very quietly

the final conduit

quiet knock 

Len returning

with bits of broken shell

nice to come back

into quiet, first-rate court area

the French shelter

outside the open atrium

with a kind of concealed energy

the boy it brings back

makes hand signals in water surges

surprising boy dancer 

a pro, he is faultless.

Suddenly: July haiku 2011

suddenly

the vine blossoms orange

winter sun

vine flowers

long loops of honey

climb the trees

warm winter

green weeds and parsley

spring up

1/7/11

carrying kindling

I reach to pat my new dog

she flinches sharply

(No I don’t have a new dog; this describes an incident far past.)

********

sunny morning

my stepson’s confident voice

clear over Skype

8/7/11

wet night full moon unseen

15/7/11

dark night

rain falling softly

low voices

21/7/11

Lune Sequence for Suzanne

a cold day indoors

I listen

as an old friend sings

her voice high and strong

in my ears

her words plain and sweet

I‘m on my own here

my headphones

wrapped around my skull

and she doesn’t know

I hear her

remembering well

29/7/11

I Am Awaiting

I am awaiting his approaching death.
There, I’ve said it openly at last —
although in writing only, not with breath.

The slowing present hurries to be past,
the dear days dawdling to their close too fast.

Meanwhile, for the most part, we pretend
liveliness doesn’t lag and life won’t end.


An experiment in rime royal, prompted by FormForAll at dVerse

Faint stars: July tanka 2011

I look outside
hoping to find poetry
in my garden.
Instead it sits on the pane:
spider too small to breathe on.

5/7/11


morning chill
cleaning out a cupboard
I come across
the four blue place mats
inscribed with your poems

12/7/11


faint stars
the blink of a plane
street lights
lights in windows
the lights of home

19/7/11


Tuesday:
Home Care visitor
phone calls
take A for blood test.
Poetry, what’s that?

27/7/11

Texas Boots

We’ll have to get you
Texas boots and a cowboy hat,’
said my new publisher.
(He meant for me to pay.)
I cringed.
‘I don’t think so.’
(Maybe that, right then, was where
our relationship went wrong.)

When I got to Texas, I began to see
why I might want them,
falling quickly in love
with all of Texas
(except him, but it’s all right —
he wasn’t a native.
In mutual dislike by then,
we arranged never to meet.)

The day came when a friend
guessing my size, bestowed
a pair of Texas boots.
‘You can’t go home without them.’
With two extra pairs of socks
I made them almost fit.
(It was I who bought my own
white straw cowboy hat.)

Sometimes I wear those boots.
They look very dashing,
but they either slop or pinch.
I don’t know what became of the hat,
though I wore it home on the plane.
It looked peculiar here.
(By the same token, a dinkum Akubra
would have looked wrong there.)

But up in Lamesa, West Texas,
across from the festival venue,
there was a garage sale.
I found a pair of thick SWAT boots.
‘Try them on,’ said Thom,
so I did. A perfect fit!
When (rarely) it’s cold here, I put them on
and (fond, nostalgic) I remember Texas.

Inspired by a prompt at dVerse

In Dreams I Return Often

In dreams I return often

to my childhood garden,

that vast rectangle of lawn

and the bushes around the sides.

When you wake during a recurring dream,

you know at once it has been recurring —

this one all my life,

including the years I lived there.

The lawn has long been cemented over.

The raspberry bushes, the ferns and bamboo

and the two spreading willows

have all disappeared. 

Nothing of it exists;

not the swing, not the summerhouse.

My brother and I 

went back one day and saw.

But in my dreams I return

often to that childhood garden,

my archetypal garden, always green.

And I am at home there.

The Photo on My Desk

We’re about to be married.

We stand, nervously smiling,

in front of a hedge of white roses.

The roses in my bouquet

and the one in your buttonhole

are cream like my smart suit.

There are pearls in my ears

and three strands around my neck.

My hair is coiffed and fluffy.

Yours is brushed up too

as bouffant as short can be.

You stand straight in your navy,

displaying your fancy tie.

We never dress like this!

I remember that stupid man

who was married to what’s-her-name

telling me how nice I looked,

in tones of raw surprise.

Agenda

She barged in the shop door

straight at me, was aware

I was there, stopped short,

side-stepped, ploughed on

all without meeting my eye

or even my face, intent

beyond me. I was obstacle, 

thing, irritation in her way.

Late sun: tanka for June 2011

clouds

like dragons

flying

in the night sky

and at dawn

clouds

like angels

floating

on bright blue

and in moonlight

7/6/11 

late sun

on the silver river

red sky

intensifying

how quickly dark falls

14/6/11

wake in the morning

open the bed

turn down the curtains

switch on the cats

feed the computer ...

(Recycled last verse of an old poem that otherwise didn’t work.)

13/4/08 – 18/6/11

Winter Solstice tanka

at Solstice 

my sister witch

visiting

wanders outside

waters my herbs

at Solstice

we eat muffins

talk Tarot

no formal rite

simple sharing

at Solstice

we send our thoughts

to a friend

in her garden

lighting her fire

21/6/11

winter sunshine

ripens the tomatoes

to profusion

as if growing wild

I need do nothing

28/6/11

late night

I remember

old ghosts

some of them dead

some still living

29/6/11