Posts Tagged ‘writing’



God took a bone from Man,
a single line from a poem,
and fleshed it out to make
a refrain, Woman, so the duet
began in a thousand tongues,
though all the beasts were mute,
till the birds began their songs.


Julian O’Dea


Garden Party

Garden Party

The carp in the pond
moved around
like the guests,
flitting, fleeting,
showing themselves,
flashing their colours,
and then hiding again,
How hard to puzzle
out their forms;
like the guests,
not really showing
themselves plain.


Julian O’Dea

I Looked At Her

I looked at her and at
the grassy plain over
which the plover came
and went and swooped
time and time again
as fierce and enduring
as the wind or the spirit
of human generation.
Her nest was somewhere
about, no doubt, as was
ours, and we made our
way back home.


Julian O’Dea




Travelling home,
our trip out is reflected
in the mirror;

through the windows
the hills and rivers
seem changed slightly,
like memories;

and the lines of stock
in the paddocks
have moved like shadows
on sundials.


Julian O’Dea

Every Year

Putting on the same play
every year about
this time,
the blown blooms
on the branch take a bow
together like actors on
a stage after the show is done.


Julian O’Dea

In Her Old Room

In her old room they gather
dust behind closed curtains,
the glass fish that used
to swim in the light near
the windows, each souvenir
once the soul of movement
now beached in the stillness
of the room.

Julian O’Dea

“thou sluggard”

“Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise”

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