old forms
in old forms wisdom creaks
beauty’s smithy works each word
until a tender timelessness
speaks
through shelley raw youth seeks
revolutionary fire seldom heard
in old forms wisdom creaks
rimbaud in wilderness for weeks
thoughts pounding vision blurred
until a tender timelessness speaks
gerard from morning prayer peeks
at the godhead of spring’s bird
in old forms wisdom creaks
dylan thomas endlessly tweaks
forcing meaning from the absurd
until a tender timelessness
speaks
grappling with myriad techniques
where this alchemy is spurred
in old forms wisdom creaks
until a tender timelessness speaks
chifley
did she grin
the trappings shed
staring at ben
he told them
pick forde instead
did she grin
they needed him
jim scullin said
staring at ben
when housewives ring
butcher orders read
did she grin
her eyes swim
and are fed
staring at ben
big boofy chin
across kurrajong bed
did she grin
staring at ben
too soon
is it too soon
to conjure words for
this melancholy tune
these notes lie strewn
blue to their core
is it too soon
construed neath the moon
obeying its lunar law
this melancholy tune
in every spectral dune
the maternal spirits soar
is it too soon
would bobby dylan croon
in some croaky roar
this melancholy tune
as this page is hewn
pieces falling to the floor
is it too soon
this melancholy tune
dingle peninsula
a greensward beauty shakes the day
making green fools of touring folk
as into mist rainbows fray
hide and seek the sun does play
with showers which seldom soak
a greensward beauty shakes the day
up the west wind’s way lay
hillside sheep that blindly poke
as into mists rainbows fray
from twining lanes an atlantic spray
hits low notes with a pulsing croak
a greensward beauty shakes the
day
ghostly cowls kneel to pray
inside beehives black clouds cloak
as into mist rainbows fray
all the senses these vistas waylay
are overwhelmed and choke
a greensward beauty shakes the
day
as into mist rainbows fray
laphroaig
the ocean turns the other cheek
and through the angels’ share
the whisky barrels speak
as barley churned seeks its peak
sprouting in heavy salty air
the ocean turns the other cheek
of dark smoky peat
wafting pagoda towers square
the whisky barrels speak
when copper pot stills creak
filling with wash then spirit fair
the ocean turns the other cheek
from decades spent in retreat
inside warehouses battered there
the whisky barrels speak
with a wild bushfire reek
to reward a palate rare
the ocean turns the other cheek
the whisky barrels speak
After graduating from law school in the late 1980s Terry Wheeler worked in the Australian public service for decades. He was inspired to write after seeing Michael Dransfield poems in The Australian newspaper when a teenager. Terry has been published in Australia and abroad since retiring. He lives in Brisbane when not travelling.
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