Courage is a motherless lamb
For a small child crossing the pen alone was a courageous feat, Occasionally, with a maniacal bleat, the wether would burst from cover And butt whomever graced his yard. He meant it in fun,
When We Were Young
As a child I played in the same frosty fields Barefoot as my no lesser loved classmates, Whom we challenged to show courage in the numbing cold, Then together we held our chilled fingers
Benefit of doubt
It’s a ruling from the field of pain (devoid of antique nave, A judgement process aptly named ‘benefit of doubt’); You’ve encountered it without veneer in waning times Where referees decline to rule on
Uncommon common sense
The other day I listened to a man on the radio Who made uncommon common sense, ‘specially since It was an interview on ABC’s noon talk-back show. He was a Professor, of what I
The Hunt
The hunt begins at a languid pace Belying hysteria building in place, biding its time To menace the peace in an orchard where mayhem’s Scant held on a leash. Abigail Belle’s the first into
Ah, that Murphy girl
Let’s talk about the weather then, Would that help you take your ease? Gossip is so rare from you The noise of falling leaves is louder than Your breathing; if breathing is whatever is
Growing Apart
We knew their names Or thought we did, we knew their faces From an album of places we’d played In a fabulous lifetime of childhood shared. Events of our beginnings declared us united By
It seldom snowed – Part II
It seldom snowed in Camp they said, on the mountains, yes, And in the Styx, aka zone six. That’s where we were afoot In alpine grass, garbed to test our winter skills, Tramp the
Talk to me of love
Talk to me of love with wonder in your eyes, Of limber magic flying through the veiling air And soft-edged silks trailing in a vintage plume, The bloom of fragrant lavender intimate in your
Your Voices Joined Is All It Takes
They came in masted wooden ships across An unindentured sea and cast their lot in ocean Swells to chance at history, and Sovereign power Commanded thus they rot in purgatory. Petty crime or deeds
As much a part
In a slow drawn focus the concrete Blocks that prop up my view of the sky Morph soft and easy like double Brie melting into a shirred close-up shot Of the pores and the
Political nonsense
I was saddened just to hear the bitter rancour In his voice, a sour hostility aloof of commonsense, And ranks who sat in audience held captive to his Ranting must have felt it too.
This House Which Is Lived In
This house which is lived in resounds With the chorus of voices bound in the press Of its generous, unconcealed blessings; Affection is neither distressed nor restrained, Nor caught in the intricate mesh of
Gravestone
But I am not yet dead and yet I rest my head Sweetly on the bare gravestones of great poets, I am not yet dead though I sleep soundly In the graveyards with their
Does the name toll a bell?
Let them declare Jihad then, let them despair that I Will speak the truth as I see it, and where that truth bears Brutally on their lies I will have applied my brand of