wondering words

… and do you wonder
some nights
when you should be asleep
if only sleep would come
do you wonder
what becomes of them
these words
you ache over
pour love into
stroke tenderly
to assume shape
hold a rhythm
when you speak them
to turn them into something real
to wake them

do you ever wonder

what becomes of them
read by so few
heard aloud by less
do you not wish
to be sure

to know
that in a place
there is a person
a someone
moving their lips in silence
to feel their meaning
reading aloud
to find the movement
giving life
finding a truth

I wonder

© Frank Prem, 2003

day-made green

all the clouds
are gone

a sun re-taken day
into my eyes
the shine of netted wire

I haven in mind
in red plumes
I have in mind a pigeon
wheeling the sky
in the heart of a flock

twists a choreography
of oh


I pursue my breath
catch it
where the pigeons
let it fall

a tease of pleasure

because yellow
makes good green
with the blue

when all the clouds
are gone

© Frank Prem, 2017

August 2017 Poem #22: tba

light from other worlds

Poem #16 from a series of meditations: the Pilgrim

Back to the Pilgrim – Introduction

there are other worlds
than the space that you inhabit

when you see the rim of the sun
above the horizon

when you see a single fall of light
reach from the sky to the earth

are you not compelled
to believe

© Frank Prem 2005

the Pilgrim Poem #17: individual difference

fweet thrushes

fwit fweet fweet fweeet

the grey thrushes
have formed a gang
and are playing tag
in and out
of bush and scrub

across the road

back again

a swooping – fwit fweet fweeet – glide
a hop
a leap
and away

this morning
while I took the air
outside on the verandah
there was one

large eyed
one long – fweeet– whistle
and he was gone

now –
the cacophony subsided –
a single thrush
perhaps the friend of morning
pecks contentedly in the grass

no sign that her demure pose
would ever be disturbed
by so much as a solitary


© Frank Prem, 2015

coffees for a road trip

three coffees
on the road today

the first one
still asleep
while grinding beans

half awake
when the espresso growls

the milk is boiled
and ready

a second cup
two hours away

a roaster
turning beans
by the kilo
to brown

the smell
pervades the café

they take their coffee
seriously here

I can’t decipher the pattern
a barista has etched
on the frothy top

perhaps a fern
I don’t know

I drink it down

and a third cup

killing time
around a foreign town

is super-size

the cups
are throw away
with plastic lids
even though
I’m seated right there
at their table

but the beverage
is warm

© Frank Prem, 2017

a west side story – Wagga in the park

I feel pretty
oh so pretty …

the Army is out

Sergeant Major
is a one-man baton charge
backed by brass
by wind
and by reed

Maria is in love
and the Army plays sharps

not a gang
but close

the Air Force
can play the Jets

tonight tonight …

I think I can hear
or percussion shakers going off

it’s hard to see the band
from where I am sitting

I know they’re under
the bandstand rotunda
and I have clear vision
they are blending
into the pavilion
in camouflage fatigues
and by general stealth

only the luffing of air
as it kisses the microphones
points me towards
their actual location with

… America
ok by me in America

and the Army band
West Side of Wagga

the wind
whisks up a score
as it passes
and tumbles it away

© Frank Prem, 2017

August 2017 Poem #21: day-made green


I whispered for the first time

I am a poet

she did not hear
and I took a moment to reflect
to gaze over images
I have seen in my mind
stories that have unfolded before me
tableaux that play out in my mind
after I close my eyes at night
to sleep
and I said again

I am a poet

she was silent for a heartbeat


replied to me

I know
I have listened to the sound
of your breathing

thereafter I was

© Frank Prem, 2001

grasp of a paradigm

Poem #14 from a series of meditations: the Pilgrim

Back to the Pilgrim – Introduction

do you long
for fresh comprehension
a new paradigm
that might hold all of it
the entire world as you know it

a place where
it could be understood

do not distress yourself
over perspective

it is fundamental
to the nature of dreams
that they should shimmer
at the edge
of vision

© Frank Prem 2005

the Pilgrim Poem #15: use of vacuum