Tasmanian Europa Poets Gazette No 110 June 2013

A Life Of Lists

I live a life of lists –

things to be done today,

tomorrow,

or before I die –

Shopping is mainly mundane,

and usually ends with starting a new list

on the way home, of things forgotten.

Maintenance, housework, can all be cancelled out,

they’ll only need to be done again tomorrow.

Recently I’ve been listing books I’ve read

(with a brief synopsis to jog my memory later)

and concerts, films, parties,

even gatherings of poets,

and who the people were and their foibles.

Better to make a list of happiness created

or received each day.

One day I shall be listless.

Friends In Arms

Chainmail

Little O-lets

So many times allied

Woven, six over,

Together derived

Yet as schooling fish

There’re always those few

Unlucky souls

Less a link or two

There’s safety in numbers

We’ve always been taught

Little O-lets together

Where perils are fraught

But time should forecast,

Wearing and rot

O-lets once joined five

Now hang on lone knot

Chainmail

Little O-lets

Here lies the weakest link

Once gleaming, the days darken

And falling...here plink.

End Of Summer

When starlit nights are chilled by autumn’s cooler breath

leaves put on their finery, dress for their dance of death.

Deep burgundies and amber, bright reds and golds, rich brown,

each clad in autumn splendour before they flutter down

to form a magic carpet beneath trees’ slow turning plain,

where once was earth and grasses now a rainbow counterpane.

While overhead, quite naked, reaching into the frigid sky,

branches in deep torpor wait as winter months go by.

Yet soon will come the warmer, refreshing springtime rains

then dormant buds will swell and burst, green leaves unfurl again.

Oh Julia, Saint Julia

Oh Julia, Saint Julia,

Your statue of a virgin princess -

How many heard your cry?

You, the one who stoically stood by your beliefs

And didn’t allow the pagans of Corsica to sway you

From your belief in Jesus Christ.

Like one of God’s other children,

You died on the cross for your belief

For that particular heavenly father.

It is ironic that many descendants of your torturers

make money out of your stance.

To glorify your stance and your conviction.

Some stole your bones and took them across

The sea to mainland France, so that they

too could benefit from your holiness.

Birthday

Another day, another birthday.

I have seen much and am thankful for

what we have.

Lucky to reach the three score and ten.

After that it is a blessing.

In Japan, people live well over a hundred years.

Health is our birthright.

Family and friends say “Happy birthday”, which is important.

Appearance of body changes; eyes never change -

The mirror of our soul; character comes from the heart.

Love your fellow man; we are blessed with fresh air, clean water and warm shelter.

Wonderful people in their eighties do volunteer work.

They put the young ones to shame.

My turn comes and I am as old as my tongue and a bit older than my teeth.

Birthday cards in mail; phone calls are a pleasure.

A surprise knock on the door, cheerful “Happy Birthday”.

What was important when we were young, now has changed.

Health; vegetables and fruit nourish us; kind, happy smiles one cannot buy from the giver to the receiver.

Another day, another birthday.

18th September 2005

Sunday morning,

Sun is shining,

Sea is calm.

Nothing moving.

No one stirring

How alone I am.

Yet, as I’m looking

There’s one man strolling,

One car passing,

The street awakes.

One bee buzzing,

One sparrow flying,

That’s all it takes

To make me realise

It’s a new day beginning

And I’m still living

To revel in it,

To find out what it’s bringing,

Be it song or sorrow,

What treasures within it?

And you know folks?

I’m not really caring.

Whatever I’m facing,

I’ll tackle it all.

I thank God for granting

This life that’s for living.

I’m having a ball!

So! Lord above,

I’ll just mention in passing,

There’s no need to be rushing

To take me up there.

I’ve no desire to be dying,

Too busy and thriving!

No time to spare!

You see, I need time

To see leaves glistening,

To watch blossoms trembling,

I cherish moments like these.

Elsewhere crimes are happening,

But right now, Sunday morning,

My world is at peace!

We are numbers – from the day we are born until the day we die – baby No. 1 million, cradle 47, death No. 1 million, row 30, L7, or if cremated, row 30, tree No. 17, if you can find the ashes.

We are a number at school, at college, at university, in the workplace.

We are served, more and more today, by numbers. Take a ticket at the supermarket and wait your turn. Go to Medicare – and take your turn (ticket No. A147); the bank (ticket No. A147 and if you haven’t got said ticket I won’t serve you even though I’m free!).

What was that credit card number again? And your bank account number? And your electoral roll number?

Not to mention the very many computerised male and female voices on the phone, no matter who it is you’re trying to contact. The precious human voice that goes with customer service is all but extinct. Face to face service? Enjoy it while you can for one day you will be a number on a screen.

This is life but not as we knew it – as we know it now.

Oh, and by the way, what is your car registration number, your house number, your PO box number, your insurance numbers, Aurora number, water rates number, council rates number and any other of a multitude of account numbers?

Numbers, numbers, NUMBERS!

Whatever happened to being an individual human being, a person?

My name is Michael, so there!

Lament

I’m asking myself with regret -

Why have I so few accomplishments to show

For the all years I’ve lived?

I think I could have been the artist to paint

The “painted hills” I see some sunny days

In the distance,

I could have climbed the Himalayas.

Inspired by the great fluffy clouds I see

Above those pastel hills,

I could have written a book -

Like “Madame Bovary” - one that I so admire,

With Flaubert’s genius for description,

And his skill at telling “Madame’s” lovemaking -

With dignity - and mere inferences that leave the reader

In no doubt as to the scenes taking place!
(Lovemaking scenes in modern books

Leave nothing to the imagination -

And to think his novel caused a moral outcry

On its publication in 1857!)

I might have written a simple poem such as Francis Beaumont’s “A Dance”, which begins “Shake off your heavy trance! -

And leap into a dance” - lines that picture such joy and hope.

I might have explored the world,

Before the world became sad and troubled -

Now I only travel the world on my magic dream carpet!

I might have done so much, instead of just drifting along,

As if my years on Earth would never end.

If my lament here is shared by you,

Then, I think I will have achieved something!

We are organising the Burnie Gold Pot again this year. Last year it was won by Lauren Hay. We collect the gold coins inside a glass goblet and the winner takes all. About six people mark the poets out of ten and the poet with the highest mark wins.

My Quantum Villanelle

Because my quantum life descends too fast,

Into the blackest hole of wasted time,

I knew from pain that it leaves you aghast

As it succumbs to ultra sound at last

With its vibrations to a common rhyme

Because my quantum life descends too fast

Into an early universe’s blast

Where its reverberations ring their chime;

I knew from pain that it leaves you aghast.

The soul and all the universe is vast,

And there was never any point to pine

Because my quantum life descends too fast.

I’ve never seen the future but the past

Of other stars that once were in their prime;

I knew from pain that it leaves you aghast

But you, the woman of a different caste,

Allowed me near your soul and you were mine

Because my quantum life descends too fast,

I knew from pain that it leaves you aghast.

The Dance

Full of romance and elegance

Movements so graceful designed to

entrance

Bodies entwined in so many ways

So much said without uttering a phrase.

Lifts, leaps and bounds do astound

So take a chance

Go see the dance.

Fear Of Darkness A serial novel by Joe Lake.

(So far: Julie meets Susan, who is from five hundred years in the future. She gives Julie a ring to travel in different parallel universes. Julie turns the ring. Susan appears as a hologram and tells Julie and her husband, John, not to use it. John and Julie decide to leave Cooee but their campervan won’t start. They go to bed. In the middle of the night, Susan appears to John as a hologram.

Julie woke. “Who were you talking to?”

“Up there, on the kitchen table, an image of your friend Susan appeared,” answered John.

“I can’t see anything,” Julie pondered as she sat up in bed.

“She was naked.”

“Naked?” There was a sceptical expression on Julie’s face.

“Naked from the hip up.”

“Hip up? And you were staring, ogling?”

“No, no. I mean, yes. You know what I mean,” explained John defensively as he slid off the bed and put his trousers on.

“And did she have a cigarette in her mouth?”

“No. I mean, of course not.” John shook his head angrily.

“I suppose you’re going outside to have a smoke, as if I wouldn’t be able to smell it when you came back in,” Julie said.

John sat back on the bed, then said, “I wish you would throw the ring this idiotic woman from outer space gave you, so that we’d be rid of her forever, what with the hologram appearing naked and making lewd suggestions...”

“What lewd suggestions?” asked Julie

angrily.

“She wants me in this other universe. She seems to know how to get me there.”

“She can have you and with knobs on,” spat Julie.

(To be continued next month)

Leaden Sky

Glass bursts in exploding smile,

Street reflections in denial,

Stranger walks shortest mile,

Sun dances behind veil grey,

And heavy cloud couldn’t say

if filtered light was night or day,