Paul Willason Poet Free verse

Saturday With Frank O'Hara

Mid Autumn, Saturday 6.30am
and daybreak is slowly climbing
over the back fence. 
Frank O'Hara's poetry is still
echoing in my head from reading
it last night as I cook breakfast
of bacon and eggs.
Later I walk up the street
to the chemist to get 
my blood pressure pills
and as I walk, compile arguments 
against Postmodernism 
and recognise that the notion of 
the transcendental 
sits at the centre of my beliefs.
I cannot abandon meaning.

Later, I prepare a leg of lamb
for baking along with potatoes,
pumpkin and carrots. Childhood
breaks through as I open 
the oven door and a blast 
of heat hits my face. 
I am persuaded now 
by the arguments 
of the Universalist or else
there is nothing at all.

After dinner I sit quietly
with my wife. The evening 
is coming on and the sound
of crickets filter in through
the front screen door. 
I have much to be thankful for
but I feel sad. I am not sure
if it's just the early dark or having
to let go of the last line
of this poem and slip back
into the heavy silence 
of myself.

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Lin Lane April 18, 2025 at 3:33 PM My dear, Paul you never have to let the last of a poem make you sad. I am one who never wants to read a last line from you. You write of mundane things that become special when written with your pen from your visions. There’s always another poem to be written. ;-) Paul Willason April 20, 2025 at 5:34 AM Ah...you say the nicest things dear Lin. Sincerely appreciate your support. Gives me the confidence to pick up a cap with the title POET on it and put it on my head and not feel a little unworthy. This was a fun poem to write...tried to get the rhythms of O'Hara into it, free flowing. Thankyou once again.