Introduction to poems

I write poems all the time, but publish haphazardly. The poem comes first and the creative process is so different and so much more interesting than the business of poetry – if it can be called that:

“After all, it’s rather a privilege
amid the affluent traffic
to serve this unpopular art which cannot be turned into
background noise for study
or hung as a status trophy by rising executives,
cannot ‘be done’ like Venice
or abridged like Tolstoy, but stubbornly still insists upon
being read or ignored.” W H Auden

It is a shame that this artform is so undervalued in developed counties where visual entertainment has taken priority. Poetry is still admired, recited and talked about in countries like Bangladesh and Arab speaking countries.

Poetry downstairs

Eos ~ three short poems

Eos wants to rewild my mind  . . .

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Where we live – three walks ~ poems and photographs

Where we live – three walks ~ poems and photographs  Wednesday Oct 4 The wood’s exhalation is palpable after two days of rain, after 4 months of dry, black bars slant shadow across the aqueous air. Above our heads a Golden Whistler sings from a rickety branch, his whole body vibrating urgently responding to a […]

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Oyster Creek Walk, October 6

orange trumpet flowers
from a mistletoe scatter the poem without end . . .

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John’s Walk

A Song Thrush introduces the entrance . . .

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John Constable on the edge of the Pacific

Chalk-white puffs and eggwhite cumulus billow with a little oil
steeping your sky, but the sea’s too blue and the horses too white.

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The Never Never in The Promised Land

The water is warm far side in the sun and venous flow to sea,
leaves play slow tag . . .

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Eos, Deep Creek, December

Love brimming and with God crying wolf . . .

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Out West past Manila

a Turquoise Parrot spinning colour on jewelled wings

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Addendum: Poetry at first light – a poem

Addendum: Poetry at first light – a poem Here is one of the poems you heard: c3’40 Spring can’t wait ~ September, Jagun – extract A Golden Whistler sings from a low Bloodwood branch, flycatchers are chasing a cuckoo and honeyeaters chase each other with tenacity as spring charges forward. Not a breeze in the sky but […]

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Christmas Morning – poem and images

I have forgotten his birthday, the noise of frogs . . .

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Note: other poems are in mp3 form are in Ears