Category: Poetry

Gleam

Gleam

Gleam I was fifty-two before I had my first dishwasher Now at fifty four I have two It was love at first sight first plop of tablet, first facial in the post cleaning steam how brazenly the cutlery shone the glasses gleamed and pots glowed read more

Isabel

Isabel

Isabel In that wayOnly babies knowYou throw yourself at me Nothing withheldNo how do I lookWill she want meDare I risk this In that wayOnly adults canI scoop you upand enfold you utterly Together we define trust LaterYou spot me across the roomStopping only to read more

On the Shelf

On the Shelf

On the Shelf I did not – could not – weepFor years my tears driedYet on the plane outI wept convulsively The flight attendant thought meSad to be leavingShe saw it all the time It was relief that flood I never thought I’d I’d get read more

The Gaping Rooms Shriek

The Gaping Rooms Shriek

The Gaping Rooms Shriek I’ve washed folded and put awayRearranged a few shelvesFilled and emptied the dishwasherRead the paperGlanced at the crosswordAnd still the hollow houseshrieks – for youthe gaping roomsrefusing to let me bein what was – until this morning – ours Even outsideThe read more

I’ve washed folded and put away

I’ve washed folded and put away

I’ve washed folded and put away I’ve washed folded and put awayRearranged a few shelvesFilled and emptied the dishwasherRead the paperGlanced at the crosswordAnd still the hollow houseshrieksfor youthe gaping roomsrefusing to let me bein what was – until this morning – ours Even outsideThe read more

Our separate ways

Our separate ways

Our Separate Ways To Isabel Cecily Dowling We cast lots for you todayWe let the scrabble letters decidewho should treasure the bits and piecesslowly gathered to make your lodgings Less bare We all wanted the ring:A lifelong closeness to younever lost, forgotten, or surrendered,(though you read more

Small Things

Small Things

Small Things In the end we carried what was left of your thingsIn a bag marked PATIENTS PROPERTY I was not surprised they gave you no apostropheOn that plain brown bag with those thick black lettersbecausewithin hours of knowing your last dreamyou’d lost your name, read more

The fat toad

The fat toad

The fat toad Ill Feeling… It’s always there between usA fat toadSilently waiting to squawk We both feel itYet never mention itIt could explodeBecome a bomb we cannot defuseSo we hope that time or tearswill wash it away Well it may….but one dayWhether we want read more

Suffering is

Suffering is

Suffering is … Suffering is … Like a stone in a shoeOr grit in an oyster shellIt can become a blister orWith time and care a pearl On the other handIt can kill you. December 1995 in New Zealand

Sunday on Lismore

Sunday on Lismore

Sunday on Lismore The roses, pinks, pansies and sweet WilliamWave occasionally in a breezeNot much more than a rufflea respectful greeting in passing Sunday sinks into everythingStilling – silencing – soothing The weekday greed that gobbles livesBurbing, farting spitting outCan’t stops, must gos and catch read more