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CHEWIE NUMBER 41
For NOVEMBER 2010
PAGE 4
poems by TIM BOCQUET, COLIN McKELLAR, Tom Thompson and Hartmann Wallis
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JUST ONE PAIR
by Tim Bocquet
Your underpants are on the line
though you have gone into a different state
I've noticed this summer hasn't been too bad-
Weather and mood wise
The clouds are stopping the winter's mosses
from drying out and the
frequent rains are helping the butterflies,
moths and grasshoppers breed like
nothing I have seen since 1984
I have forgotten how the spikes of grass seed
itch once embedded in socks
and how the flies swarm before and after the warm rains
but never during
and your underpants are on the line
just one pair
immersed with and next to mine
though I know they are yours
they have a sad heaviness to them
like your hand when wrapped in mine
I only wear them when I have to as they
are a little too big
and they have your sad aura in their elastic
which overcomes me when ever I wear them
They are a great metaphor for you
ageing, faded and unsupportive
I think I would like to throw them out
but I know I like using them on odd occasions
Like I like phoning you late at night
every once in a while
I've never mentioned to you that I have them
for fear of you wanting them returned
or some other silly reason
and then what would I have?
the mossy rocks of winter
and the insects of summer
this gloriously cool summer
with its softly blowing winds
that push your underwear towards me
as they hang upon the line
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THE ONE WAY THROUGH
by Colin McKellar
The one way through
Was to untie all the knots
Of deliberation
And become actual in the moment,
The language of the way of things.
Spiritually impregnated habitat,
Straight lines of perception.
Pulling back purist and classical
Authoritarian Religious moral values.
Love of tradition,
Conflicting with a fascination for change,
The re-mix collage of a grab-bag
Of bits and pieces
Of many traditions.
Yet there we are?
Beauty is impermanent,
Transitory and almost illusionary.
Religion is indivisible,
Our re-absorption
Into Aboriginality,
Establishing our belonging in Hinduism
And Pan-African evolution.
Are we there yet?
Lying awake on the dagger
For fear the weight of sleep
Will impale our heart. |
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Owed to Ted Hughes
What strange koala is this
On the grass mouth down
Munching as if we are not there
Blind to us, and the ground
Against the wind, the misty hail
Tail up; urgent to the earth.
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BEAUTIFUL BIG-THINKER
by Hartmann Wallis
They sent him out to view the land from a high ridge,
blindfold. He came back stoic, dusty; and undeterred
returned for more of the same darkness, even wrote
in a leather bound diary of what he had not seen and then
expanded the writing with thoughts connecting back
to others, thinkers mainly, belonging to the European tradition
of knowing where a thought should end up
in a one-god world. Often, perched on the ridge – his ridge -
it would enter his mind to consider how others might regard
him standing there, blindfold (silken cravat) in place,
wide brimmed buff coloured felt hat, pale moleskin trousers
catching just in below his ample buttocks,
pale tan boots of such excellent quality, a fitted pale blue shirt
with mother of pearl buttons, a wrist watch to die for:
solid gold, keeping up with time in Paris, London, New York
And out there the land, rivers meandering, mountains
of washed out violet tinged indigo, birds of the air, beasts of the field,
a south easterly ruffling his pale gold hair.
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OFF YOU GO THEN, TO PAGE 5 (that's CHEWIE 5) Okay? |
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