Tuesday Poem - Exit, Stage Left by Peter Lach-Newinsky

Exit, Stage Left

There he stood, a superannuated lighthouse
five metres due east of the lone dieback poplar
in the paddock near the dam. Spring found him
outboxed on Arthur's Flat, the next young buck

roo slashing his chest as the tribe lounged round
twiddling claws, scratching backs, staring
into space & another pouch-to-pension cycle
found its captain walking the plank. Now alone

he's all eyes on you & the dog, one ear honed
your way like a dark searchlight, the other
swivelling backwards just in case. Lear-like,
sad & wary he surveys his dumb & empty

sea of grass stretching to no horizon's cloud
but some dry ditch by Blue Gum Road.


This poem is in a chapbook called Collidoscope published by Mark Time Books in Castlemaine. For more about Peter and his work - http://peterlachnewinsky.wordpress.com/about/

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Tuesday Poem - Cute by David Prater

 

Cute

… the cute and loving appreciation of my book and me

by them in Australia has gone right to my heart.

—WALT WHITMAN writing to Bernard O'Dowd, 1891

i wish to specifically send remembrances & love to you

& how is your mother bernard is she well? i do hope so

(tho i've never met her or your good self nevertheless

send her my regards & tell her to water the daisies often

& fred woods is well? I do hope the bruise heals soon

(tho what happened to him I can't tell either no matter

& young jim hartigan is he likewise well? I do hope so

but please do send him my best regards & the solution

to this week's crossword is enclosed ada I do hope she's

well you speak so highly of her I wonder whether she's

not your real wife after all now don't go jumping to

conclusions bernard I can only go by what you tell meh

about your bowel movements bernard are they regular

i pray so for you know my views on this issue prunes &

buttermilk (enough said eva I presume she's well oh

i hope so & as I know oh she's very cute in that photo

you mentioned enclosing never did arrive unfortunately

still I see her pretty well from here & very cute she is

& her parents mr & mrs fryer are both cute I hope so

please also kindly pass on to dear mr fryer my sincere

congratulations on winning the bridge tournament &

don't ask him how I know! tell ted he's wanted in several

states over here (i'm sure he'll get the joke it's private

I don't recall who louie is but please send him or her

fond salutations & finally tom touchstone who i can't

place (no i'm getting nothing but suppose & hope he

is well I guess that's all but hi also to other friends not

named e.g. pet cats the milkman (oh he is a cute one

David Prater was born in Dubbo in Australia but is imminently about to move from Karlskrona, Sweden, to live in Stockholm. He is the editor of Cordite Poetry Review. This poem appears in The Best Australian Poems 2011 edited by John Tranter published by Black Inc.

Link to his blog and more poems in this series - http://daveydreamnation.com/blog/

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Tuesday Poem - Buildings After Five by Bryan Walpert

Buildings After Five

Night falls room by room. Phones lie silent

in their cradles, file cabinets hold the closed

expressions they must keep until dawn, bare

arms of coat rack are raised as if stretched

for sleep. A leaflet flutters from its stack

as vents blow gently, then more gently still,

and dust, the skin of the air, settles

on the tracks of windows, on the bare heads

of lamps – as if rebuilding the world while

we leave ourselves each night as memory

to return changed, to shape the damp earth

with our feet, the cold air with our breaths,

and leave souls to linger, in our absence,

in all that we've touched. The vents exhale.

One chair faces a long night into the wall.

One leans towards the window and suffers the moon.

This poem is from Bryan's book Etymology published by Cinnamon Press.

http://www.cinnamonpress.com/etymology/

Bryan was born in America and now lives in Palmerston North in New Zealand where he is a a Senior Lecturer in the School of English and Media Studies at Massey University. And he is the nicest bloke you would meet on a long day's march. A fascinating and generous conversationalist, with an intense commitment to the art of writing, and a fine poet. His book is a delight. I very much liked the lines in Dear Persephone – 'That's motherhood/a doorway that thinks/it is the room.'

He has got a new book out - A History Of Glass.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1936205416/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_tl/?ie=UTF8&tag=writimatte01-20&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399349&creativeASIN=1936205416

Tuesday Poem - Autumn by Gig Ryan

Autumn

You go to bed a failure and rise a saint

The casino's trays of lights wobble in the river

Unpack the origami news in prison flats

and books advertised like cars

TV tracks the angst-ridden comedian's path

I forget who I am, and drive

or hover at a desk, a blank mosaic

while their shocks comfort and defer

She retires to her studio

with her devices and rueful catharsis

Dust words blow away

The time you waste

murky and naïve, the plinking church organ

and sweet liturgy pouring on the air

A beautiful object covers his book

Concrete rain falls down

© Gig Ryan

Gig Ryan kindly allowed me to post this poem from her recent book published by Giramondo Press – New And Selected Poems. It was originally in Pure And Applied which won the Victorian Premier's prize For Poetry in 1999.

http://www.giramondopublishing.com/new-and-selected

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