#97 - two poems - aubade and a crocodile yellow

6.4.20

97

two poems

aubade

in a glow beginning

April if  

from all the corners dreaming

take a turn around the firstness

where the sun is up for bright

you cannot say a shadow’s shown

in the dim yet still

consider fire

or fresh invention

mind whirrs with

back to bed?

or

up for all?

see from bright nothing

where the first bee comes

louder than least of birds

so know

all golden the ages of us

a crocodile yellow

took a walk out of summer

every day beginning

mulberry confused

it was pumpkin time

tomatoes asked after

and find them first, before the birds

mulberries, I mean

first day of the new clock

and the kookas

in their little sunshine party

these days the creek still being run

heard saws and other blades swept low

end of days, many felt

you’ll get that

and in the lily wash of pond

beside, reflected branches

the lesson –

take a sip

.

are we not all eyes towards?

times the head’s poured out

enough or as required

distance keeping to itself again

and bear in mind

it could always be too late

one day must be

yes we will be thrown the shadows

all of a wonder was

.

weren’t they a prayer for help?

the garden is weak with superstition

and have my wilderness at home

.

far lusted

caught up

sleight of tilt

a sun so soon

the leaves are dry

out with the day

late afternooning

sunshine lifts all spirits high

when so soon after rain

.

precious

nose in the good stuff

thing embodied

here observing

storied, told about

considering still

all selfwardly and out

because this way spoken

suddenly too beautiful out

too lovely to be elsewhere

then here is the garden at home

.

of the nest and fork

of the elk and stag

bark – moist, raw or gone

butterfly white

butterfly yellow faded

butterfly orange and black

.

l’après midi du soleil

these three swamphens

like pilgrims visiting to nest

come into a tidy season

much moon but not enough

in the stood still

built a dabbling castle

village to keep mosquitoes fierce

sun having quit the valley’s distance

yet the high birds have it still

.

call this autumn

nothing falls

the whole 360 round of world

is coming to its green

.

fresh in the words I am

as anciently interred

as anyone who ever spoke

so it must be with the lemons gone bush

.

all its own colour until the ridge has it

so fiercely went the sun

we follow

some things in plague can change

it’s like this every year

with the discovery of fire

.

in all the lush of it we stir

until the last light still