Long Gangling Poems

The cold air seemed to help clear his head but the lullaby was persistent and 
he could not get it out of his mind.  He walked for just a few moments
before passing the the...

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WINTER, 1948 [40 Saxton Street]

for W.W

The winter nights that pass now
are so unlike the winter nights
that passed before, that I often
struggle back in those suspended moments
when sleep grapples for a hold,
to once again hear the...

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An old man ravaged by age
His gangling frame impelled against the cancerous bark of the forever weeping willow 
Lined with wrinkles of time, his ashen face unshaven
Cast down among creeping shadows

Folding my legs, I sit...

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oh, my precious child!

let me kiss away your weep -
do not be troubled, the moon but bids good night
(stars whispering their ancient lullaby)
swallowing not, the western reach
but merely giving pause to the day, waking
so that...

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oh, my precious child,
let me kiss away your weep -
do not be troubled, the moon but bids good night,

       stars whispering their ancient lullaby,

swallowing not, the western reach,
but merely...

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From a boy to a man

Just a wee lad, pants begining to wear,
His Mum used a basin to cut his hair.
His Mum worked hard, no Dad you see,
Burnt herself out feeding her family.
School to him...

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Eyes still closed ...
          Our sated mouths slowly parted,
                 ...

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Meandering memories 
move through my mind 
like a river flowing   
to the salty sea. 

Limbs stretch lazily 
reaching skywards 
like the gangling 
branches of an ancient tree. 

Standing still in 
the solitude of...

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brush in hand, he breathes life to paper ...

      columns ... bejeweled and sparkling
         like blades of shimmering grass
   piercing...

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Old friends you come to reminisce and share
The stories of better life, another day compared
O I have question to settle matters here
Before I pack and go again - something here is seared.
Did you too
As a...

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They could be heard across valleys with their screeching echo
Flailing above tree height they’d flock in their thousands - the Black Cockatoo
Like nature’s eclipse, they would descend in clouds; all great gangling wings
Flapping madly at...

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Down on the pier, the midmorning bright,
Thronged wives, husbands, lovers,
And sons, friends, young daughters,
All eyes perusing the grand and gray ship
In long-simmered hope of glimpsing one face,
One much-beloved grin, among antsy sailors
Arrayed in white jumpers...

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Deep within the decrepit graveyard
Alight by a circular moon

Concrete creaks
Gravestones crack
Grotesque bodies rise
in ghastly fashion.

khaki grass crunches
beneath gangling feet

mechanical movements
macabre murmurs
and creaking bones
march forward, famished.

Crunch....
.....
Crunch...

Crunch.

filling
darkened streets,
crowding alleys,
stalking backyards...

Creak..
...Crunch..

flesh, falls to the floor...
Exposing...
the
gruesome grey,
skeletal,
Dearly departed,
undead.

Flocks of...

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I stand here 'neath these vines of old
 Wrapped by the arms of stories told
The lads and lasses, bright and bold
 A dancing brown-eyed blond
     Of whom I'd been quite fond

...

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CLOWN

Hard day at the office – circus in town.
I hear the Sousas yellow, or dark Pagliacci brown
All in all I hate this one here clown,
Striding right into my space,
Hiding the other side of his face...

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In the morning, putting on pants, its gangling legs 
become entangled with mine.
It has thrown pillows on the floor again.

It has made a permanent dent in the recliner seat.
Leafing through notebooks of old poems,
I find...

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In the morning, putting on pants, its gangling legs
become entangled with mine.
It has thrown pillows on the floor again.

It has made a permanent dent in the recliner seat.
Leafing through notebooks of old poems,
I find more...

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Last winter on the village pond, but three
Geese.  Brilliant white with yellow beaks, come see,

With pride they sit and guard the village green,
Such anserine confidence must be seen.

Spring spawns new life right here, remarkably,
Nine...

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RISE ...


breathless, calm ...

     I face the morn ... possibility

          mists crawl 'neath gangling willows

       ...

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