Judith Wright Poems
|4.||All Things Conspire||3/27/2010|
|7.||To A Child||3/27/2010|
|9.||Niggers Leap, New England||3/27/2010|
|12.||Woman To Man||3/27/2010|
|16.||Woman To Child||3/27/2010|
|19.||Naked Girl And Mirror||3/27/2010|
|22.||South Of My Days||3/27/2010|
|25.||Sonnet For Christmas||3/27/2010|
|26.||Failure Of Communion||3/27/2010|
|29.||The Company Of Lovers||3/27/2010|
|32.||Request To A Year||1/1/2004|
|33.||The Old Prison||1/1/2004|
The Old Prison
The rows of cells are unroofed,
a flute for the wind's mouth,
who comes with a breath of ice
from the blue caves of the south.
O dark and fierce day:
the wind like an angry bee
hunts for the black honey
in the pits of the hollow sea.
Waves of shadow wash
the empty shell bone-bare,
and like a bone it sings
a bitter song of air.
Who built and laboured here?
The wind and the sea say
-Their cold nest is broken
and they are blown away-
They did not breed nor love,
each in his cell alone
cried as the wind now ...
The small blue Arab stallion dances on the hill
like a glancing breaker, like a storm rearing in the sky,
In his prick-ears,the wind, that wanderer and spy,
sings of the dunes of Arabia, lion-coloured still.
The small blue stallion poses like a centaur-god,
netting the sun in his sea-spray mane, forgetting
his stalwart mares for a phantom galloping unshod;
changing for a heat-mirage his tall and velvet hill.