Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Last night …

Last night I had one
of those dreams where
the main action has
already happened,
and you wander around
trying to work out
what has occurred,
and where everything
like a bumbling
store detective …
… or like walking
into a home where an
argument still hangs
in the air, like a forgotten
helium balloon
from a fractious
party …
… trying desperately
to reconstruct
the past,
confabulating madly
like a man
who has ruined
his memory
with alcohol …
… but very like simply
being a human being,
wondering what all those
people in the past
could have been thinking
to leave behind
this curious mess.
———— (Julian O’Dea)

her heart fluttered

Cartoons by Raymond Peynet:



her heart fluttered and
she clasped her breasts
as if they were gentle birds
about to leave their nests

(Julian O’Dea)



Five rabbit haiku

warm night
the wild rabbits
are close

the colour
of the soil
wild rabbits

startled rabbits
brown white
brown white

in the tangle
of the landscape

the rabbits fade
into the ground


(Julian O’Dea)


A verse, a poem,

its roots in eternity,

its fruit taken

daily, high, low by

groping hands,

tasting sweet hour

after hour, day

after day,

never sour.


(Julian O’Dea)

By the pool

By the pool
the lizards shed
the skin of time
and turn to stone.
Wallabies leap from
the dusty road ahead
and disappear.
While strips of bark hang
down like streamers
on a wharf when
the ship is gone.
And the sunstruck
bushman finds the final
place to lay his head.
—————– (Julian O’Dea)




Christ had a disciple

who was a drunk.

He could have been an

apostle but he was

always drunk.

Too drunk to deny Him.

Too drunk even to run away.

Too drunk to write a gospel,

even a short epistle.


All day he lay drunk by a date palm,

just watching the ants go by.


(Julian O’Dea)

The Summer Rain

The summer rain nags and beats at

the oleander, striking and splashing into

its flowers, the colour of lips and pale

skin, to bruise and smear the pink and

the white, as the wind pulls and tears

at the branches as if the small tree were

a maiden tied to a stake in a square.


(Julian O’Dea)