Treasure Island

David McLean Mathews

(Colac, Australia)

Song of Every Sphere


i sit on my roof watch the alien birds fly wine and treats to a nest in the Japanese maple ~ i understand the valley breeze puffing up my nose ~ its hook reserved for flicking raindrops when the blackcloud dumps ~ even though the iron is crowned n hot the bluerim of earth absorbs my watching skin ~ a hundred ks in every direction filled with the same remorse ~ at least i feel optimism aloft in the passing space of craft dipping their wings in prayer spraying their fueload over a greasy sponge ~ in time and beyond i crawl into the solitude of a hailstone its prismatic qualities give me hope and the sparkle of crushing colour blinds me for an instant ~ blind to love and hate ~ blind to questions or answers ~ blind to suffering and happiness ~ a vast crunching quality invisible ~ ive been here before ~ over Baluchistan ~ remember ~ 500 metres above the truck stealing past a hotstone revolutionary jail ~ 40 degrees in the shade of the birch ~ the goat brigade camelling in the ditch beside the road ~ i flying perched in the shotgun tower the reigns in my hand a teatowel bandanna over my mouth my guts in turmoil as they are now ~ subversive inertia ~ i dont give a stuff about barrel turns or 4g divebombing ~ pulling out at the last minute my juices erupting over legs bellies beds ~ a bunch of violets growing in the space between reality and compulsive abrasion ~ the hailstone hurts my peripherals and i kick out ~ my flanks glisten with sweat ~ pump blood over the bluerim tide ~ anger frustration impatience ~ ego frail as my flummery body whirlpools through sky ~ i crane my neck to get a better glimpse of the browngreen curtain greeting me like a prodigal friend ~ it impacts on my brain with the beatitude of crushed violets and i compact into the size of a small pod ~ my toe on my tongue ~ my right hemisphere happy propped against a shrub drawing in the dirt a pattern of the next 2 million years ~ the next poetica ~ the next big bang ~ the earth tastes sweet flakey ~ my toe digs a space for my tongue to slide amongst the roots of simulation ~ tranquillity suppressed only by a lack of light ~ not that it matters ~ i have the violets close by ~ they provide sustenance ~ knowledge ~ in a vacuum i puncture the bluerim edge and retender my garden ~ my left hemisphere is full and heavy ~ i feel lopsided stretch and survey the terrain of my resurrection ~ i am comfortable stretch again ~ this time to my angling perch ~ it has rained in my absence and the roof steams as I sink into the ferrous canopy.

(Leichhardt, Sydney,1994)

Submitted: Saturday, March 15, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

What do you think this poem is about?



Topic(s): self

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poet's Notes about The Poem

Song of any morning waters blue with dream
(Jack Kerouac, 'Caritas')

Comments about this poem (Song of Every Sphere by David McLean Mathews )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

PoemHunter.com Updates

Poem of the Day

poet Geoffrey Chaucer

The firste stock-father of gentleness,
What man desireth gentle for to be,
Must follow his trace, and all his wittes dress,
Virtue to love, and vices for to flee;
...... Read complete »

   

Trending Poems

  1. 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
  2. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
  3. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  4. Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
  5. Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
  6. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
  7. Dreams, Langston Hughes
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
  9. A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
  10. Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe

Trending Poets

[Hata Bildir]