APRIL 12 2011: Here are poems: stones, shells, water.


Here are poems: stones, shells, water.
This one weighs in the hand. This one is shining.

This one is yellow. And this smooth to the fingers.
Ching chink says this one clear as a wind-bell.

Poems are set about in the empty rooms of houses.
Windows open on clouds in the blue distance.

Rosemary Dobson

After the weekend at the Readers and Writers Festival and some rather ranting poetry, I am glad to come across this one. There was quite a bit of eco-whine at the said festival and a howling at the moon species of poetry which I can well do without. Now I look at Rosemary Dobson’s lines and all is once again well.

Here are poems: stones, shells, water.

I am minding the Big House and the Big Dog once more and this week the sun is shining and everything looks just fine. I am amongst the poems. I shall simply look for some poems today about the things she speaks of. I will look for Australian verse, simply because its where I live but will include Burl Ives’ PEARLY SHELLS because that’s our family anthem.  We have played it at each of the 3 family funerals we have so far been through.


Pollen brushed from the table
Flies off to make forests
In faraway countries;
May change a landscape.

Poems blow away like pollen,
Find distant destinations,
Can seed new songs
In another language.

Here are poems Here are poems

He’s just another black kid
We forgot
He’s an aboriginal kid



there are shapes everywhere

The shape of sunlight cutting up your arm
The shape of stone
The shape of things to come
an owl’s rug-coloured call

It’s just I cannot cope
with the sway of your dress

Luke Beesley



in an aisle
of middens
he blocks her
they laugh
as they prepare
for war