APRIL
Like the second cup from the leaves
resteeped
green, brown.
in the coffee lees
of thoughts.
Early autumn
the aftertaste of summer.
Julian O’Dea
8 Apr
29 Mar
Androgyne
Following me all
my life like a coloured
shadow,
the woman I might
have been.
I see her sometimes
smiling softly
nearby
without
recognition.
Narcissus
loved only himself
but I dream of
the hidden woman
I would have been
if chance had set
another scene.
If my father had not
intoned a son
but I has been born
a daughter
to happy laughter.
I see bright eyes that
might have been mine,
rising breasts,
eyebrows cresting on
waves of youthful
joy, so unlike a
glowering boy.
But you went your way,
girl, and I went mine,
a boy, twins separated
at birth, closer than
brother and sister,
but never to merge
although I love you
as myself, lost female
version of me.
Julian O’Dea
29 Mar
Light Wind
Near the lake with
a head of thoughts
some germinate and
need attention
but others the kind wind
blows away
blown out of my hair
even if I try to gather
them they are gone
lost in the trees
or grass
like the moths that
fly just enough
to evade every attempt
to capture them
and will not be
pinned down
good for the moths
and good for peace
of mind.
Julian O’Dea
4 Jan
10 Oct
better to write
one death poem
than one hundred poems
of death in life
beats, beats
pump out poetry
from deepest veins
the reading heart
stops
at a beautiful poem but
must go on
Julian O’Dea
19 Sep
Uncaged
too many fine birds
in your head
cage of ivory, cage of bone
let one out to be a poem
to flutter, utter
Julian O’Dea
12 Jul
MOLONGLO GORGE
This Canberra sky is blue with cold
A three-quarter moon hangs
half-way up
Single notes from an unseen bird
hang liquid in the air
Trees and shrubbed cliffs
crowd around below
There are supposed to be koalas
in this reserve
hunched over and sleeping
in the recesses of winter
Hunched in a coat I feel a
Koala Dreaming
Julian O’Dea
13 Jun
NOW WINTER BEGINS
Now winter begins
like a long argument
you cannot win
Wrangling with the wind
and scolding cold
taking a dim view
Walking past parks
and cold-lit grounds
with departed sounds.
Julian O’Dea
22 Oct
Awake
Fearful the moaning
of the wind,
far worse when it begins
to speak
however low and
indistinct
of what you suspect
but dare not think,
rising and falling
like a conversation
in another room,
soft then loud
like bad news arriving.
Julian O’Dea
9 Aug
putting her hands
behind her back
to unhook her bra
a gentle struggle
a hint of bondage
supplicant hands
with red nails
turned to heaven
Julian O’Dea
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