Poem: The Good Things and the Bad Things

A grey and heavy Tuesday

sprawls to the horizon;

the window might open onto a courtyard

filled with colour and life,

but never does. I want to drive a nail

deep into the clouds

and hang a bright collage across the sky,

a crinkled hymn to day and night.

But try as we like, we’d always know

that the moon is just a lump of wood,

the sun a crumbling dried flower

and the stars only shiny little stones

hanging by loops of string

from the spindly branches of a tree.

We see ourselves like reflections

smudged in the back of a spoon,

two changing people in the same clothes each day.

So we rush on like open razors,

cutting open all the things that might have held us

while we grab a feeling or two

from a book as we pass by.

Now there’s noise in the courtyard,

but the spoon needs washing

and the brittle sun slowly drops a petal.


(from “The God in the Box”, Agàpe Publications, 2003)


Poetry, poem, speculative poetry, science fiction poetry, Australian poetry, British poetry

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