The Ross Valley, Kiama - Poem by Michael Buhagiar
A high new moon of mountains cradling
Rolling stonewalled velvet fields,
With herds and homes and apt hands ladling
Milk pumped fresh which fullness yields;
Rows of palms like milk ejecting
In lofty founts from massaged nipples;
High thin calls of birds injecting
Silence; a breeze that dam glass ripples.
And Rex with dainty pearls not hung
Is thrusting his blade, or charging a rival,
Or fixing a rambler with Mars-red eyne.
While a corpse is served on a crust of dung
As a calf in plaints abides its revival.
A bore’s dark eye is lashed with kine.
Comments about The Ross Valley, Kiama by Michael Buhagiar
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- TelevisionRoald Dahl
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda