HYMNS OF CELEBRATION

I've been playing about this is poem and I think, with the added assistance of the Secret Poets, it is finished. Thank you Secrets. You can read the earlier version here.

WAITING FOR THE FLYING SAUCERS

Before dawn we were on the hill

singing hymns of celebration

of confirmation

This was the day we would transcend

to our promised new lives in Heaven

The drizzle did not dampen us

The gawkers and cameras

did not make us falter

That came later in the full light of day

wet to the skin

cold to the bone

But Salvation did not beckon that February day

Conscious of my weak chest

my Mother was the first to question

In twos and threes

slowly we walked off that hill

In all my life I never felt as alive

The layout is different and the Secrets suggested flying saucers rather than simply saucers. Also the third stanza has been clarified. I hope it all reads better.

I was asked a question about Redgum recently, on an old post, so I'll leave you with the band at their peak.

Until next time. 

THE JUDGEMENT OF THE MAGIC FISH

Have you ever held your palm open, flat for the Magic Fish to be placed there and for it to tell reveal the secrets of your heart? I know it's a piece of nonsense but from childhood I've always found the Magic Fish fun. Apparently it is also known as the Fortune Telling Fish. You can read it's secrets here.

THE JUDGEMENT OF THE MAGIC FISH

How keenly we await

the kiss of cellophane

on our open palm

red as a promise

transparent as truth

it will read your heart this day

reveal what you would conceal

Are you ready for such honesty?

Yes, this is a small poem but it's fun. I do not intend to change the word cellophane for polyacrylate. Cellophane seems a more accessible word.

Here's a song by Iron and Wine.

Until next time.  

A GOOD HEAD OF STEAM

The inspiration for this post's poem comes from real life. I did watch a street preacher attempt to interest the public at a street market recently. I often wonder what makes them stop? If they preach for a set time then go about their business? It's an idea have often toyed with but never got anything worthwhile from.

THE SPIRIT IS WITH HIM

Thanks to the speaker

I can hear him half way down the road

He’s worked up a good head of steam

that neither the drizzle or wind can dampen

His truths are obvious to him

and should be to all who listen

But the passers by do just that

and I pass by with them

I think this poem is about there. I think it's effective in conveying a scene. Part tell, part show. Some poems are just about keeping your chops sharp. 

I leave you with Laura Gibson.

Until next time.   

SEA CHANGE

I have a recurring dream that I suddenly discover I have not written my dissertation and therefore I cannot graduate. I've had it for years, and it probably comes from supporting higher education students. There is always trauma around getting dissertations in on time, although, back in the day, I was very organised and had mine completed in good time. It's my version of an anxiety dream. Oh, a Gentleman's is a Third Class degree which was considered an adequate level of achievement for a gentleman before they began their Grand Tour of Europe.

SEA CHANGE

There I am again

discovering my dissertation is unwritten

a common enough event in this repeating dream

But hang on

I check the calender

find I have seven days until hand in

And I think

I can do this

thereby sidestepping the sea of shame

And I know a Gentleman’s Third beckons

The poem is called Sea Change because this time I change the script. This is not a big poem. I may try it out at a couple of readings to gauge its reception. 

Sachal Vasandani has a new album out on the 14th. Here's a taster Sometimes I Miss.

Until next time.