David Brooks Poems

Early
on the way to a meeting at Batemans
I glimpse a lyrebird
on the edge of the Mt Agony road
...

I dreamt I was a tree
covered with strange fruit.
Well, no, I lie:
there was no dream,
...

My father spent most of his adult life
working for the Commonwealth Public Service, shunting files
from one end of his long desk to the other.
When he died he left half-written
...

Leaving the town in the mountains
after seven years’ exile from his native province
the old poet meets a woman one third his age,
the most beautiful he has ever seen in this place.
...

To cut
a mango
one takes a sharp, pointed knife
and slices lengthwise
...

<i>for Richard Exner</i>

Mind
dwells on apocalypse
...

It was coming

the cold front
and the complex weather
...

In late summer
I feel the chill again
the first marauding
from the high plateau
...

I dream of myself
asleep upon a hillside,
those huge black bees – cmrlje –
emerging from the
...

Leave your house, rise
from the table
where the candles have guttered
and a blue light
...