APRIL POEM-A-DAY (final)

Day 30 - a fade away poem

1.

They come to join in with

the radio, set to Classic FM.

They must enjoy the trills

and stretched notes,

but I doubt they'd welcome

being conducted, orchestrated.

The thin-limbed trees attempt

balletic grace; the birds swing.

Garden harassed sufficiently

by my tools, I turn off the radio.

Gradually, they too fade away.

2.

On Wednesday nights, we sing

boisterously. The bits I love

start loud, forcing the hall

to accommodate us.

The other bits I love are

the endings, always curling through

the high wide space like smoke

as our voices fade, fade, fade

away ... (... kick back, kick back

to higher ground ...)

APRIL POEM-A-DAY

Day 29 – recycling a previous line

It’s the racket others make
that gives her away.
And yet, today, the rock
I hold ready makes no mark.
They’re actually partying
there among the scarlet
bottle brushes, and as I
approach ready to defend
they take flight – at least
a dozen drunken
honeyeaters.

APRIL POEM-A-DAY

Day 28 - a problem poem

We no longer live

in a problem-free house.

The video machine

chokes on the video

and then declares itself

obsolete. The slimline

cigar-case DVD player's

instruction booklet is

incomprehensible, and

meanwhile my laptop

is failing to hold on

to wireless waves,

confusing Windows

and us. Well, we

no longer live in

a problem-free world.

But I'm not going to

get into that. Too

problematical.

APRIL POEM-A-DAY

Day 27 – the trouble is …

The trouble is the quantity,
After years of writing on the spot
(that was six thousand, more
or less), and four years of
poem-a-day months, and all
the thoughts in between, I’m
swamped. Turn them into
wallpaper? I’ve tried framing,
hand-made books, magazines,
anthologies – success, but
all in vain: they keep coming -
wordfloods! points of view!
complaints (especially about
the quantity). And I plan to
live to a hundred and two!

APRIL POEM-A-DAY

Day 26 – an animal

The animal in me snarls and stalks
intruder cats when the birds yell
for help. Some cats are stupid.
The white one looks at me, at
the stones I fling to frighten, like
a child who ponders adult antics.

The grey one knows when the game
is up, and crashes through broken
palings, not bothering to scale
the fence. I am considering
deterrence in the form of
barbed wire, if there is no
restrictive covenant. It’s not that

I hate cats, I just don’t want them
here. At friends’ homes, I take
photos revealing personality;
they occupy home territories
like queens and princes.
I stroke their delicious fur
and the animal in me purrs too.