Le Coq

6982996-cock-chanticleer-rooster-cartoon-illustration

 

It wasn’t Miro’s colourful coq

Nor Chaucer’s Chanticleer

Nor the one that crowed three times when Peter

Denied Jesus.

 

It was just a garden variety rooster

That waddled onto the page

When my back was turned

& scrabbled between the lines

 

Before I sent him on his way

feathers all ruffled

Into a sunset red

as a coxcomb.

Happy Haiku

I wrote a poem once about a bath.

How you emerge from one

‘rosy-skinned and luminous as if

Fresh from a voyage’.

I had a sleep like that last night and wrote this poem.

Small plane vector illustration.

Happy Haiku
You’re a writer.
You wake up with something to say.
Already you feel the wind beneath your wings.
You hop into your little plane
And putter up into the sky
Where you write your happy haiku
Before the breeze blows it away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Purr

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The challenge was to write a short poem about a domestic chore in a positive, uplifting way. I chose doing the washing:

 

Purr

 

The sheets on the line

Rub against

The warmth of the sun.

 

You can almost

Hear them purr.

 

The One That Got Away

running-clip-art-3

 

I tried writing a poem once about a running joke. It was just ahead of me as the best poems are. I sprang off my writer’s block and ran after it with my butterfly net and my blue bucket of hope; but I was out of condition and this one really had legs. It waved back to me as it disappeared in a cloud of dust over a nearby hill.

2061

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[written in 1986, the day before]

 

I suppose

I will hold your hand

That night

The comet passes over

And I will guide your young, young eyes

And show you its starry path

Across these Southern skies

And say,

“Look, that is the comet”

And you will stare in wonder with me

And perhaps we will never be

This close again.

And I will say,

“Look closely. One day when you

Are very, very old

You will tell your children what it was like

On this day”

And they will hold your hand

That day in 2061

And ask you,

“Did grandma and grandma see it with you?”

And you will shake

Your tired old eyes

And remember

Though we will long be dust

Like a comet’s tail.

Butterflies of my Mind

small butterly

 

I was out among the fields, here one more time

Vigorously out hunting the butterflies of my mind

All the poems, the stories that had given me the slip

And would it seem once more; I had to be quick.

All the bright, beautiful things just beyond my net

Any moment now I’ll snare one; damn! Not just yet

Early Walk

music

 

On my early walk

I passed a group of musicians

Under the bridge

 

It sounded like

They were tuning their instruments

In preparation

 

For a concert

Perhaps a twilight one on the bank

The notes

 

Bouncing off

each other —Boing boing — like hollow

rubber balls

 

banjo frogs

amongst the rocks and reeds already

drawing a crowd