axeman: the dwindling

the pile that was a mountain that vast expanse of never-ending has been tamed devoured slice by slice to the systematic beating of the splitter transformed from the raw to the dressed and he too has been changed transformed his skills honed an ability to smite developed into the art of division round after round …

gone (like September)

the plum blossoms suddenly they’re gone and all I see is young green where did white go the oaks are small life and bud leaves the view I had through bare branches has begun to close and the cherry flowers are bursting here and there like popcorn they have waited out the frost and now …

po-dro – transcribing now

he is under observation nothing special about him just a man but under surveillance from a poetry drone riding at his shoulder hanging close just behind him watching what he does seeing inside what he thinks sometimes framing his thought a little better than he could manage on his own a little buzz it’s on …

axeman: a way to the (wooden) heart

he studies the gnarl a mongrelled angled fiddled branch base with no level surface to sit on his block or to face the splitter he has a forty-five degree swing at best recipe for a broken leg if he only manages to strike a glance the easy thing the smart thing would be to discard …

the wind resolves

the wind has attempted a resolution hear the chorale harmonise and wail oh-woo-woo-woo it will try to refrain from song now ohh-oh-oh why said the wind should I cry so why should I moan no-no-no I will sing my songs no more now I will blow completely in silence ooh ooh only in silence ooo-ooo-woo-woo ooo-ooo-woo-woo …

layered: the egg-vacado

what hen has layered my avocado what tree has hatched this strange in-between thing should I fancy love perhaps more like a fowl what egg is this to so challenge an old hard-boiled like me © Frank Prem, 2017 September 2017 Poem #31: the wind resolves 170318

offering day

he stands under a clear blue sky sun directly over head he holds his offering high into the air a little smoke rising then a drifting of blue away he offers to each direction one to four singing a little offering song quietly beneath his breath shaman to the spirits of north and east west …

the sounds of morning

the competing train of milk on the stove the competing train of espresso o-o-woa o o-o-woa o the competing sound of a storm on the stove-top the competing grumble of volcano f-r-r-r-a-a-a-o-o-o-www f-r-r-r-a-a-a-r-r-r-a-a-a-r-a-a-o-o-o-www no no it is no competition no no no competition at all it’s only my brew of the morning no competition that …

kooka-night goodnight

ack-ack-ack-owoo kookaburra calls ack-ack-ack-owoo the sun is down below the ack-ack-ack-ackoo horizon low beneath the world ack-ack-ack kookaburra calls the night to fall ackoo kookaburra the last light is gone the dark is sweeping in kookaburra will you call ack-ack-ack-ackoo again goodnight you kooka-bird goodnight dear kooka bird © Frank Prem, 2017 September 2017 Poem …

leaves

autumn leaves layered for Susie she won't rake them anymore but I recall autumn leaves arrayed in their colours like red wine and ochre she raked them she gifted them to me to make a garden layered in colours like red wine I remember autumn leaves layered for Susie © Frank Prem, 2017 September 2017 …