Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

A bunch of old snakeheads down by the pond
carrying on the swan tradition -- hissing
inside their white bodies, raising and lowering their heads
like ostriches, regretting only the sad ritual
that forced them to waddle back into the water
after their life under the rocks, wishing they could lie again
in the sun

and dream of spreading their terrifying wings;
wishing, this time, they could sail through the sky like
horses,
their tails rigid, their white manes fluttering,
their mouths open, their sharp teeth flashing,
drops of mercy pouring from their eyes,
bolts of wisdom from their foreheads.
...

Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over!
Huge moons there wax and wane-
Again- again- again-
Every moment of the night-
Forever changing places-
And they put out the star-light
With the breath from their pale faces.

...

The swan is set to fly away alone.
From earth-pilgrimage it's time to unwind.
No memories are saved of mortal zone...
of stone or bone...nor traces left behind.

It's just a dream...a palpable figment;
of places, people, tastes and fragrances.
Those wild eddies of love and sentiment
are straightening now on shores of dead senses.


...

He loved her and he was untrue—
Untrue he was, let loved her still;
For out of nether darkness drew
The winds that lashed his wandering will.

She lived in joy all unaware,
In pain and joy his children bore,
While hidden spectres of despair
Drove him to love her more and more.

And when she knew the truth at last,
Suddenly she grew still and strange.
Her rag of haggard youth was cast
Upon the evil winds of change.

She heard, and could not understand;
She paled, and could not bloom again.
So bland death took her by the hand,
Looked in her eyes and made all plain,

Yes, wise death taught her all, and so,
Smiling once more, she kissed and passed.
And he, caught in life's overthrow,
Faced love and death alone at last.

At last, made strong by love and death,
He gave her truth for truth, and knew
Now she had won his perfect faith.
Dying, she doomed him to be true.
...

There’s nothing so exasperates a true Australian youth,
Whatever be his rank in life, be he cultured or uncouth,
As the manner of a London swell. Now it chanced, the other day,
That one came out, consigned to me—a cousin, by the way.

As he landed from the steamer at the somewhat dirty pier,
He took my hand; and lispingly remarked, ‘How very queer!
I’m glad, of course, to see you—but you must admit this place,
With all its mixed surroundings, is a national disgrace.’


...

Is it that place, where he said he fell once,
but soon on his feet to make his strides?
Is that the garden he described ere,
now you're staring at
with great disbelief and joy?
Oh, this flower, he praised before
of its rare fragrance
now you are holding tenderly in your hands
looking at it with great amazement...it must be!


...

Come, thrust your hands in the warm earth
And feel her strength through all your veins;
Breathe her full odors, taste her mouth,
Which laughs away imagined pains;
Touch her life's womb, yet know
This substance makes your grave also.

Shrink not; your flesh is no more sweet
Than flowers which daily blow and die;
Nor are your mein and dress so neat,
Nor half so pure your lucid eye;
And, yet, by flowers and earth I swear
You're neat and pure and sweet and fair.
...

Australia's a big country
An' Freedom's humping bluey,
An' Freedom's on the wallaby
Oh! don't you hear 'er cooey?
She's just begun to boomerang,
She'll knock the tyrants silly,
She's goin' to light another fire
And boil another billy.

Our fathers toiled for bitter bread

...

I cannot forgive the light
Its translucent sketches
Its probing oil on water balancing act
Its full embodiment of your skin
Its penetrative gaze
On a body that should only pose for me

Its molestation is no accident, like a ladies' hose laddered on purpose
Torn and stretched in its talons
Squirming like a fervent tornado, almost directionless

...