Some secret's in the sky, swirled wild
clouds awash with light, pulled out, carded,
in wisps, in veils, twisting fringes fraying.
What a messy entertainment, defying line,
elation refusing summation, the power of the null -
as two cats squabble pettishly, languorously
at garden back, tumble-play, lash out again;
at pad-pats flee each other, mowling wistfully,
return to sit quietly adjacent, blinking at me,
that quiet ogre, under an Akubra* statement,
wondering why today I tolerate them.
That nothing is of you and so your shadow's
all alone in me.
_____________The grasses don't want it
among their fawn and green. Sufficient trouble
with winds and rains that between them
have beaten down a swathe through the middle.
My children, my friends my new love, my audience,
none of them want to hear, have had more than enough
of 'C' poems I stubbornly cling to.
The cats have trod their common acrobatic path
along the fence-back off to other venues now;
and when two dogs kick off, a burst of birds
shoots silhouetted over. 'Ptah!" Sky-spat
as ragged cloud unseals the sun. Ah!
there is the secret:-
eye-render, heart-mender, Ra.
...............
*type of Australian hat
YOU ARE READING
Wintering
PoetryIt's yet another MajorSeventh. Hop on the big shoulders and look ... Lastest poems are always posted last in my collections. Winter. So, expect sparse gardens, late autumn and wintry countryside, wry philosophy and humour, tenderness towards litt...
