Two Poems by Allan Lake

 

Neither Prodigal Nor Weary 

 

Recently retired, I easily slip back

into Hippiedom, poetry, to worn

jeans, straw hats and thongs. After

morning meander to discuss philosophy

with magpies, to wave back at the sea,

there’s coffee and fruit toast at Planet B

with its bossa (not so) nova that transports

me to that perfect beach at Ipanema.

 

Vancouver was a trip, Venice a real gone

gondola, Paris an eyeful, Bali a treat

and cheap retreat. Ibiza once an idyll,

Istanbul once was Constantinople

was Byzantium. Then dust ground

to something softer than a halt,

here in this beachside burb of other-

wise brash, burgeoning Melbourne,

Australia. Dust will settle, will fly.

Through Solitary Pane

This cafe has only one window

once you have settled inside.

View: brick wall half meter away.

The bricks and mortar are more

interesting than what passes for art

on the inner cafe walls. Each red brick

an individual, muscular mortar bulging

in geometric piggledy. Then, momentarily

illuminated by sun, one branch of aspiring,

volunteer fig tree with signature leaves

framed perfectly, if you are seated

at the table opposite as I often am.

This is where overly fertilised minds

might go skipping down a muddy path,

wax lyrical about anthropomorphic

communion, shared frequencies,

Mother Nature’s cry from her put upon,

ailing heart. Spared that, almost, just

once again visualise that lone fig branch,

the sunlit leaves with backdrop of bricks

framed by window sash of your choosing.

It was/is simply ‘occasional art’, well

worth a second look as I indulged

in a second espresso while

sharing with you.

Allan Lake, originally from Saskatoon, Canada, has lived in Vancouver, Cape Breton Island, Ibiza, Tasmania, Western Australia and Melbourne. Lake has won Lost Tower Publications (UK) Comp, Melbourne Spoken Word Poetry Festival & publication in NewPhilosopher. Latest poetry chapbook (Ginninderra Press) ‘My Photos of Sicily’.