online today!FargoFan Poetry (118)

As from a dream thinking
Who do you love today?
Long ago, and often no reply
no echoing words.

The woman beside me often
crying, grief from her family
and never relief from that family
No concern, taking her children
Was their want. Ten years
Of that and no morning answer

A grim argumentative woman
Understandably she had
Learnt to stand up
For herself but being beaten
Nightly by mouth
Was too much for me

And so I moved on.

In movies I see
Men sit side by side
Or face to face
And toss down a shot
Of who knows what
tequila whisky brandy
But I never did that
Never needed that
Silently sinking
A fast glass of liquor
Is not my style

On a rare occasion
As I recall
A tequila shot with a woman
And that was all.

Blue sky blue water above me
My aunt on the beach
The Manly harbour sand
Didn't hear me of course
And in fact I did not cry out.
A cloudy day I think
Because I have no memory of sunshine
Just stepping in a hole in the sand
Arms up and seeing the sky
Some young guy
came and pulled me up
Else I would not be here
70 years later, would I?

Since my aunt Merle was there
My mother must have been
In hospital
As she often was
At that time
My father too perhaps
But both survived 50 more years.

After the stropping there was a ritual
a hug a cuddle as though
a snuggle was making everything right
a reconciliation it seemed
but no one ever asked me what I thought.
20 years later I told him
(why not her too since she in acquiescence stood by)
what I had thought about it
Spare the rod and spoil the child?
Idiots, who taught you that?

When you did that dad,
I thought
I will never never do that
Strop strap hand fist
No child or wife of mine
will know of this

by the dark redwood planked lakeside house
he sat, they sat, they two, talking
what things passed between them I wonder
In that conversation I observed that grey day
Who knows, I but a stranger intruder onlooker
Seeing them, in fact three of them
His silent hands-clutched mother I guess
standing behind, unspeaking
Just an unheard event seen.

Yet in my memory is no such scene
I saw how she stood behind when necessary
Yet she was the dominant one
in fact.
No one ever remarked but she was the power
In fact,
no need to wield the strop
to hold the power is there?
I didn't really understand this
or perhaps I did
until I saw her decisions
after dad had died.

But that's not the story!

Then he rose, the man,
Inked dark and blue to the wrist
And the boy elbows on knees
Bent and ears covered
Wept it seemed
While the woman walked up
Approached
But a wave of the arm
and away she went

Roasting on Tuesday, thirty nine degrees
then clouds, cool and rain
two days and more and yet
I heard the sun emerge today
Heard?
Yes the cicadas burst out in song
chirr chirrup chirp
with night a choir of crickets
took up their cacaphonous song
dropping off one by one till now
one hesitant chirr remains
no answering call his resolution fades
halts resumes fades
reminds me somewhat of me
in seeking
someone.
He's stopped

Not unlike him
My chirruping ceases
If someone comes too close.

A poem resented, published but never
approved agreed assented.
Aggrieved I spied it fifty
near sixty years later
at the tail of the school magazine
The Pines 1963
and my name mispelt to boot!
Pretentious crap at seventeen
I wrote and reluctantly stood
beckoned commanded
to read aloud in class and
Mr Wright heeded not my protest.
Oh you buggers you bastards!

It goes to show, it doesn't pay
to join the Facebook alumni
nigh on 60 years later does it,
and stir such ne'er seen
and newly to be forgotten
embarrassments past...

The doors rattle, each has its own sound
My office door behind me Is the click of the latch
the door with the economic map of China 2008
But there are light booms of doors downstairs
The upstairs bedroom doors each their own sound
In unison more or less with the sighing trees
Sighing not quite so loud that the streets, morning,
will be strewn with flowers leaves and branches
Midnight has gone and the slight screech
of distant train wheels scraping the curving rails
Too
I will go out and stand in the dark silence
as the sliding windows shudder slightly
then stop.
As does the wind.

Midnight Jan 15-16th

What should I do but shrug
you walked away deleted
disappeared and silence
these years thereafter.
this morning early I thought
of this wordless 'ectomy'
effronted it seems
you reject a criticism
so I am a father no more to you.
what can I do but shrug?
it is as you will have it.
my own parents
cold shoulders too for years
for some perceived offence
until I reached out
and like a cloud
dissolved by the sun
the offence disappeared.
But this time no,
have it as you will.
What should I do but shrug?

Trees sighing and upturned pots
Soil scattered
El ninya comes bringing
wind and rain welcome
if gentle enough
but does that ever happen?
Unlikely here in this harsh land isn't it?
Californian fires fade as
the Ozzie bushfire season looms
this year droughts thirst quenched somewhat
and fuel consumed
the fire is not so ominous we hope
Year in year out harsh is ever harsher.