Douglas Scotney Poems

The comparison
of gifts by the parents of
adored receivers;
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If, as a tenant,
I lay waste
to the land I'm renting,
I'm committing estrepement,
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A novelist-turned-poet,
used to spending long hours
at prose,
took to complex rhyme
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When ground fires
in the form of flowers
the size of candle flames,
returned me to my former art,
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As ‘ærs',
pronounced ‘ears',
is OE for ‘arse',
and ‘ēars' OE for ‘ears',
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I wished I hadn't returned your two ice packs
When I realized my missing one
Was probably in your Esky.
'I'll be able to make do', I thought,
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Word of God is all we have.
There is no God of sense.
Not having sense the Word is packed,
Choc-a-bloc with stuff and nonsense.
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There's a town in Kildare called Athy.
Joyce used it to rhyme with a thigh.
He could have used Naas.
That rhymes with an arse.
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A poet roamed by rushing brook
Early springtime morning. The sound
Seemed softer than it should,
Tempered by, tempering,
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As a Queenslander I'm told
I say fuel for fool
Go to skewel not school
'But hey' is a vocabulary tool.
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