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Do we ever forget someone we loved? Do they forever occupy a corner of our mind? Sometimes we even remember their scent. Scent is very powerful. A memory of scent awakens the magic of lost love.

Your scent lingers

Your scent lingers in my mind
You left your jumper
Once without you in it
Your scent was frustration
Its power over my heart
Too much magic
I ran away
Now older I remember you
In my mind breathe
Your scent again
Without you in it
Wondering at magic
Longing for magic
Mind running back
Lacking magic.

This one is a serious science fiction poem. Stretch the mind. It would be nice to see it in a magazine.

METALLOYIM
Sculptures, massive Henry Moores
Two halves of a sphere – a barely discernible weld
Five guardians, stronger than stone
Ponderous shapes and textures
Watchmen beneath heavy clouds

Time

Guardians go/return in pairs,
Welding to the sphere, separating to stand
Monoliths in a stone circle, not stone, not lith
The sphere dulls, glows, warms, cools
Seems alive, lifeless, thrums, pipes
Whispers and screeches

Time

The sphere groans and whines
explodes with a scream of proclamation
Two halves wrench apart
A tiny shining sphere falling from their centre
Rolling to waiting guardians who
Gather it toss it hammer it squeeze it slap it
The infant music resonating in the parents who wake
Singing, joining their percussion to the pounding hymn

Hallelujah!

Ok Sassys, you challenged me. I‘m sure you can’t write worse poems than me. Now beat this, eh!

(TO THE TUNE OF ADVANCE AUSTRALIA FAIR)

Good Public Servants bow your heads and hear my sorrows all.
My favourite workmate (Jimmy Brown) is soon to leave us all.
On weekends and on holidays he never once appeared
But always turned up right on time at least three times a year:
But always turned up right on time at least three times a year.

He never took a sickie off, he slept quite well at work,
And when the boss walked past his desk was never known to shirk.
With what you’ve been through (Jimmy Brown) what is there left to fear?
How could you leave you silly chook? Why don’t you just stay here?
How could you leave you silly chook? Why don’t you just stay here?

This poem is to be recited in a posh voice. The subject? I’ll eave it to you to work that out. As with all of my writings, it is available for publication by negotiation only.

A WINDY NIGHT IN CAIRNS

It was a windy night in Cairns.
We had beans for tea.
I pointed at you,
And you pointed at me.

The rain fell on the roof,
And a low rumble was heard.
Was that really thunder?
Or had something else occurred?

A muffled pipe gurgled.
There was the hiss of an over-heated urn.
I played the tuba.
You trumpeted in return.

The atmosphere was rich,
Though unsuited for proximity.
The dinner was not a success.
We sought distance and anonymity.

It was a windy night in Cairns.
We had beans for tea.
I pointed at you,
And you pointed at me.

VERDIGRIS

Verdigris
Dirt of years.
The warm glow of rosy youth
Disappears
And the power of others
Takes hold,
Inflicting pain
More than can be told.
A black smell of bitterness
And despair
Surrounds what?
Is it an empty hollowness
Or is it raw flesh flinching from hurt?
Where have the healing hands been in all these years?
Where is the water to wash the wounds
And soothe the hurts?
It’s hard
To live
In the Valley of Illusion and Despair,
For Death,
In all His many forms,
Lives there.
Sometimes He wears a happy mask -
Sometimes His beauty makes you cry -
But always He is Death
And you say you don’t care
Until He takes His mask off
And you stare Him in the face
And the stench of His breath makes you run.
Light a candle in the dark
And
In that place
The candles belong to Him too.
By their light you see heaven.
It’s made of plastic
And soon catches fire
And melts in clouds
Of poisonous smoke.

Is there a real Heaven?
How can you know?
How can you tell
If all your world is and has been the Valley?
Trust is taking the hand
Of one who knows and walking away from there.
Your feet are dagger-pierced
And at times your blood feels like liquid lead
But a little bit of light is enough
For a start
And one day you are alive.

There’s only one way to be free
So clean away the Verdigris
Who’s to do it? You, not me.