Geoffrey Donald Page Poems

These softly wafting floaters are
a minor blessing age supplies
to couple with your tinnitus —
first the ears and then the eyes.
...

Seeing people who remind you
just a little of the dead
is always mildly disconcerting —
...

A Carlton bank clerk, back from work,
is turning through the Argus,
his new wife, maidless, at the stove.
...

Every now and then you see him,
replayed on his slice of footage,
somewhere in the opening days —
...

One thinks of how the details must converge,
the storytellers' small manipulations
across the wild millennia of firelight,
...

They don't pursue the food or sugar.
Mostly they appear by night
to scurry on a reach of lino
or scuttle up the walls of cupboards.
...

Wide-shot sea of doldrum-blue.
Distant voices, slant and dried.
Fishing-boat with figures long-shot.
He passed him by on the other side.
...

I heard the timbre, not the grammar,
the words and phrases flying by,
the textures and the sheer momentum,
...

Assisting police with their enquiries
rarely gives too much away.
Its rhythm is a little wiry
but there are rules it must obey:
...

for Alison

I'm like a widower in winter;
ten weeks is a tad too long.
I miss your gossip over coffee,
...