Thursday, September 30, 2010

Poem of the week: ENDANGERED by Andrew M. Bell | Phantom Billstickers

Poem of the week: ENDANGERED by Andrew M. Bell | Phantom Billstickers

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Tuesday Poem: "Spring Comes Early to the Fridge"

Ice arcs through the air
like solid lightning.
The large bolts strike with a rumble
and clatter to rest
where they gleam with bravado
at the dispirited winter sun.
The small bolts explode
with a skittering hiss
and trickle down between the bricks,
prodigal drops returning to the watertable.
Cast out from its plastic host,
the ice bears grooved testimony to their symbiosis,
but this testimony concedes to the crafting thaw
a bevel smoother than a human hand could fashion.
Some ice lies clustered on the brick paving
like terra incognita wrought on a vellum map
by the feverish imagination of an Olde World explorer.
Some lies scattered among the purple and white alyssum
in imitation of a Tyrolean spring.
As a breeze releases
the olfactory history of myriad fridge dwellers,
a cloth rings over a wire tray
in a crude arpeggio which segues into
the basso profundo of the resurrection hum.
The cycle begins anew.

The poet wishes to acknowledge The Western Review (Western Australia) in whose pages this poem first appeared.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Tuesday Poem: "The Crucible"

Father, you are the blueprint of my soul,
And though I sense our parting drawing near,
The crucible of death will make us whole.

The day or hour is not ours to control
Yet even strangers read your passing here.
Father, you are the blueprint of my soul.

In paradise's fields I see a knoll
Where, shucked of flesh, we sport without a care,
The crucible of death will make us whole.

As age and weight make diamond from the coal,
So I am fashioned from your smile and tear,
Father, you are the blueprint of my soul.

I will not dread the shedding of my role,
A promise waits beyond the footlights' glare,
The crucible of death will make us whole.

So, father, do not fear to pay the toll,
I am the sun, your shadow I revere.
Father, you are the blueprint of my soul.
The crucible of death will make us whole.


The poet wishes to acknowledge the Naked Eye anthology (Western Australia) in whose pages this poem first appeared.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Tuesday Poem: "Lake Toba, 28 June 1993"

LAKE TOBA, 28 June 1993

The lake is smoothed jade after the rain
and only the commercial flotsam
of a lonely plastic Aqua bottle is adrift
on untrammelled waters.
A butterfly of the kind we usually see pinned and dead
drifts by
like me, enjoying the return of the sun,
mata hari”, the eye of the sky
shining fiercely like Hanuman
from a leaden countenance.
Boys fool by my verandah view offering
to sell me a girl.
The travellers pass through like capsules,
pausing only to bleed money into outstretched palms.