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Best Poems Written by Robin Brown

Below are the all-time best Robin Brown poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Refuge

I am a refugee
Can you see me
I am not Australian 
Not of your nation
I'm fleeing, I'm running, I'm running scared
I'm tired of running 
How far have I come
To find a new home?
My babies, my woman I've left behind 
With promises of hope
That at last I would find
A people, a land, a new community
That would give immunity
From oppression
Where my children might grow
With the dignity
That is the right
of all humanity

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Postcard From the Mountains of Shikoku, Japan

Mountains, clouds caping
In land of water falling
Tall, straight pines climbing
 
Many shades of green
Still paddy water serene
Steep hills between
 
Spring swallows welcome
Good fortune in ev'ry home
Happy we have come

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Hard Rock

The rock I stand on
is hard
I lean down and put my hand on
its hardness

Once there was
a nothingness
then the tiniest speck
of somethingness
burst into
the everythingness
until at last there was
thinkingness
so I can feel
this hardness

But this hardness is really an illusion
brought about by a grand collusion
the quite improbable action
of four forces of attraction
and one more of reaction

With steel hammer this rock I could shatter
but if a creature were I of dark matter
this rock I’d not even batter

So tell pray tell me
what’s really real
I’m sure it can’t be
just what I can feel

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White Terns

Come fly with me
said she
One good tern
deserves
another
And did I so yearn
with her to share 
the air

Up we soared
and down we roared
between the sea's deep blue
and sky's paler hue
Between the waves’ white spray
and clouds high away

As speeding arrows, we traced
two trails across foam crests
calling as we raced
pure, sweet nothings
And sharp as scimitars
our slim, white wings
spray and air did slice

Enough said she, no more
And down and down she dove
and through the great pine’s boughs
a twisting path she wove
wings fluttering fast
until at last
by her side she bid me settle
So I passed the test
that measured well my mettle
that meant with her I’d nest

Like some other species White Terns engage in courtship flights.  The male flies after the female matching her aerobatics as best he can.  Apparently his genes are being tested

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Cold Moon

Moon-bounced light, flint-hard
meets my eyes
cold air, sharp as a shard
of glass
slices my nose and sears
my ears
Yet this is warmth, the arena of life’s race
the cosmic granule on which we breathing
creatures cling
not the absolute, the devastating
cold deep space
 
Not a soul was once aboard
this universe
No heart soared
and sang its beauty, marveled its force
Mary Celeste sailed time’s ocean
with no crew to mark her course
At the still bucking caribou calf I see the grizzly gnaw
yet of nature’s splendour I cannot lose my awe

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Afghan Fields

I’ve not been to Afghanistan
Fred has
He’s seen the summer dust
He’s breathed the summer dust
He’s felt the winter snow
He’s walked the fields
where those other poppies grow

Fred’s eyes have measured the mountain heights
that divide the valleys – that divide the fights
that divide the people of that land
His ears have heard these divided people crying
He has smelt the smells of the dead and dying
And the cries of soldiers – of our land – hurt
By roadside bombs – hidden in the dirt

Tell me Fred
All the dead
Are they a price
oh such an evil price – that must be paid
for people in that land – to be no more afraid
to live their lives free of tyrannical yoke?
We can’t hope to understand – we lucky folk

(Singer/songwriter Fred (Iain) Smith known as “The Singing Diplomat” spent more than a government official living with Australian soldiers in Afghanistan)

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Black Swans

The evening wind is lifting the lake's waters into grey waves
On which are dancing the angled rays of the crouching sun 
Two black swans together 
Plough the waves towards their night time hiding place
They have each other
And tomorrow and perhaps many tomorrows more they will have each other
And perhaps many cygnets will busy their lives
One day, there is no doubt
one will be gone and there will be one

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The Globe

I stand astride the spinning globe. 
I know more of many things than Keats or Coleridge. 
And with my knowledge 
the wherefores of Saturn’s rings should I not probe?

But the stars, the constellations in all their magnitude
with all their force 
cannot undo their predestined course. 
How yet crude is the grandest plan 
of this tiny creature man?

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City Bright

I walked down the street on a city night
On a bright, lit city night
There were faces all around
Looking near, looking far
And each and every one 
I know could ask why
Could ask why am I
Why is it 
Why

On this bright city night
They were all human
But many perhaps not being quite
Many were deflected, distracted
Not connected, not acted
Just reacted

Maybe I'm wrong
I don't know their arts
In each of their hearts
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps yes
They all can sing
Yes I'm sure they can