Les Murray Poems
|44.||Inside Ayers Rock||1/13/2003|
|46.||Flowering Eucalypt In Autumn||1/13/2003|
|47.||Predawn In Health||1/13/2003|
|48.||The Dream Of Wearing Shorts Forever||1/13/2003|
|49.||A Retrospect Of Humidity||1/13/2003|
|52.||Late Summer Fires||1/13/2003|
|53.||The Aboriginal Cricketer||1/13/2003|
|54.||Music To Me Is Like Days||1/13/2003|
|55.||On Home Beaches||1/13/2003|
|57.||The Meaning Of Existence||1/13/2003|
|58.||Poetry And Religion||1/13/2003|
|59.||An Absolutely Ordinary Rainbow||1/13/2003|
An Absolutely Ordinary Rainbow
The word goes round Repins,
the murmur goes round Lorenzinis,
at Tattersalls, men look up from sheets of numbers,
the Stock Exchange scribblers forget the chalk in their hands
and men with bread in their pockets leave the Greek Club:
There's a fellow crying in Martin Place. They can't stop him.
The traffic in George Street is banked up for half a mile
and drained of motion. The crowds are edgy with talk
and more crowds come hurrying. Many run in the back streets
which minutes ago were busy main streets, pointing:
There's a fellow weeping down there. No one can...
On The Borders
We're driving across tableland
somewhere in the world;
it is almost bare of trees.
Upland near void of features
always moves me, but not to thought;
it lets me rest from thinking.
I feel no need to interpret it