Posts Tagged ‘writing’

Uncaged

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

MOLONGLO GORGE

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

Winter

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

AWAKE

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

bra

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

“Cats and Boxes”; “Playground”

Cats and Boxes

Muezza, favoured cat
of the Prophet,
ended her tale thus
on the one thousand
and second night:
“O cats who came from
the Libyan Desert
and conquered Egypt
and the known
world with fur and claw,
heed then this tale
of the flying box
which like the carpet
is carried by djinn
directly to Mecca;
I enjoin you to try all boxes
and sit within.”

Julian O’Dea

——————————————-

Playground

The children go inside
vacate the playground
and leave the light
to play alone
glancing and beaming
as a truant wind scrapes
a dry leaf along the ground
like a small boy grazing
his knee.

Julian O’Dea

Garden Whites

Garden Whites

pallid Pierid butterflies
like shards of light
alight on
the bush heaving with scent
wings singed fringed
like scraps of a burned
book carried in warm air
moving fretfully to
settle and crack the code
of pollination
to turn scattered matter
into seed

Julian O’Dea

FOR THE FEAST OF THE ASSUMPTION

FOR THE FEAST OF
THE ASSUMPTION

In Irish not simply Máire
but Muire for the Virgin Mary
like murine for a mouse
in Bethlehem the “house
of bread” bred Christ
to feed the ages then
snug as a dormouse
in a Roman glirarium
fell asleep to rise
from her Dormition.

Julian O’Dea

MINOTAUROMACHY

MINOTAUROMACHY

Ancient agonistic minotaurs
each day anew disport themselves
chimaeras of the real and fanciful
heaving and fighting and bleeding
on the hot yellow sand
dying elegantly contorted
to wake unharmed in the morning
for another day of their ancient
Mediterranean games under sherbet
clouds in timeless Moroccan blue.

Julian O’Dea

MOSAIC

I make a mosaic in my mind
from shards of memory
and remains of splintered
dreams of sun and sky
that retain their gilded hue
and rich lapis blue
and, after picking up
the pieces and putting them
into some kind of place,
an image emerges
that hovers like an angel
somewhere between
the random and ideal.
———–
Julian O’Dea