#105 - in the one day

14.4.20

105

in the one day

here’s what I remember –

lift in the well going down

see dark

cupped hands do

soft volcanic

dig

make archaeology

hear a self before you see

all sorts of things come creature

and some slipped off again

reminding me of a message to send

hey in the daybright

first thingily

with fences over

the chewing too

let sleep have back again, but no

it’s all I have of the dream

for little aches of waking

cow, camel

crossed my eyes, I stretched

sat on an esky that wasn’t there

I salute the risen one

now day before me spread

invisible with doors

it is a vast thing to be crossing

insect over

the continent so

climb desert

make a forest way

afoot about and acre it

so many missing already

with hardly a cynical thought

but lung-full, hill up, April-ing

thought fire, but not yet

bring kindling now, pile up

and under roof where dry

gather the family – wallabeasts

swampies and now the choughs have come

taken over from the kookas’ shift

and bowerbirds still do

in a dragonfly’s ponder hover

iridescence catching

follow

yellow of paper wings

feathers not much

bees bigger than ever now

a garden tinker all there is

first round that was

all in a day’s and I won’t call it work

a wonder that the flightless

have so much to declare

.

in a pocket of the year

the radio throws lost tunes

little news

still

each world so new

everywhere fruit ripening

impression each of a world

windfall if left

or beak it

and always brighter the thing to be

least of creatures – I

who make the mastery

and vanish from it

into words and wishes

.

found by sundry electronic means

and seek a sphere as well

people see in, think too many books

but one never knows where one may go

hopes pin

I’m sorry

twang and burr

imagine a population

woven in verses

with how many blows to the nose

times to itch

?

won’t hear the beat

but take as read

the light of perspiration

.

yoga over

now in the sunshine seat

with Whitman, am I?

no, Czseslaw Milosz

years we’ve sat so

now and coming to conclusion

teaching ever more intense

… poetry has so many heroes!

and now with my father

(over the shoulder shot

grapefruit already coming on)…

crossing the South Atlantic

1938 – becalmed for a time

in a Japanese ship

for the sake of ping pong

all on the brink

and fooled by a female impersonator

but all the crew were too –

familiar face, bet hinged upon

.

a beckoning of sunshine

and must not sit too long

now out again – day’s in full bloom

still morning

and I was creating a new version

one heretofore and yet unknown

the years of ever after here

with rainbow gold to pot

sun washed my clothes, baked bread

it ripened

I hung to dry or took the breeze

you’ll have day as it comes

with yonder cloud

so lovely light

and fluffed and stretched and gone

.

oh dear – I am late

though have no rabbit wrist to wrestle time

and how the heart beats past and till

and when it’s still

who’ll know?

(a foolish speculation that –

like who made all of this ?

and what can they possibly have been thinking?)

come chosen to the moment so

lap at the thing

be grateful, glad

and if to no one

spread it then!

enough nostalgia

…on with the list

perhaps I will call it

‘nest of distraction/s’

that will be provisional –

day needs a working title

.

go on with

tongue out or cupped hand to collect

often it was sunshone

uncloud, mosquitoes

hence or die

or I could spray myself

check water in buckets

spread round

all the while

time was hammering tune

fashioning words to fix

how the head hums

with it’s just having come

and this far, with its direction

and now too hot the eye of heaven –

infallible sign of Lunch  

the clock tells this much more

how the world was walled up so

when this round could have been mere mirror

and pick up strings

see how they’re ripening

which I, outshone with all the day

am given here to praise

.

and now the welcome back to sack

though not what you are thinking

in the novel flight to doom

by carriage of course

Dickensian because it’s Dickens

there’s another story where Queensland

split into nice and nastier parts

(everything’s relative)

.

I will not tell of love now

though in the offing always

a gentleman will never do it

yet let us cuddle close and know

the flesh perfections

a certain soporific lull

postprandial, subside

find dream where left

and leave again

such secrets as where under lie

.

and Rip Van Winkle me

I woke

So Chabrier, leapt up

(the Slavic Dance, Reluctant King)  

thrown like paint, drawn fine

pumpkins aplenty

lantana to do

let us not speak of privet

.

only then was it considered doing my tax

but wasn’t I coughing up already?

all sorts they wouldn’t count?

so all adrift and afternoon-ing

caught the cat’s pyjamas, cream

and came to the one more life

how full day’s pockets always are

and on with the treasure hunt

an edit?

perhaps a co-translation?

arvening idiom recast?

as deep in the day as light allows

anoint crepuscular

will I then say the kitchen’s calling?

fridge full enough for choice

discoveries of substance

of alcohol

all in a day’s attentions

and crave your inattention too

no one reads so far

.

they speak of better worlds to go

these fools of someone else’s dream

and have the stairs for up

trees too

please look with me

won’t you?

and take another turn around?

.

having become a force of nature

all along I knew

clear crop of stars

for long ago

thanks for the light now cast

not enough to see by

and that’s why we look to the turning

and all the old tales told

.

that hole in the sand

dug ages back

can I squeeze in

hide there

when they come?

must be the ancestral dream

passed down

from

what’s my name?

and all along I knew

there never was the time to be here

only way out of my head

with this song is

write another one

take it day at a time

among my branches birds ignore

the every supplicating call

scratched initials in the paint

saw them

already there