Dunstan Carter
The Lemon TreeThe sun whispered
In the garden As nature throbbed, A single hummingbird Fluttered Frenetic, Flies buzzed all fussy And the wind Tickled leaves, As we wandered All dazed. A warm blooded sky, Hot light flickering, The weird Clicking crickets And their hypnotic Racket Flowing and growing Like an orchestra Thrumming, A dizzying oddness Pausing our thoughts. We held hands And stared straight at A single fruit sitting At the heart Of a lemon tree Singing, Simple and high pitched, An odd waspish whistle Of witch giggles And wonder, A strange treasure plundered, A sour delight; It was wondrous, Peaceful, A beautiful sight, God knows how we got there But this drink Now tastes right. Distant Song
It’s those icy pavements
And the shock of white breath As it leaks out your mouth, Chimney smoke joining the sky And the rise of chatter in bars, Calm a distant song; Down the high street A grocer returns To the pavement to holler His multi-buy deals Like he’s never felt woe, The butcher chops steaks With a whistle and shimmy, The corner shop kids Scream laughter all wild And the local post office is all Cards, queues and hustle. You pull in hard On those first winter breaths, You haven’t left The house in months And your long uncut toenails Bend sore against your shoes, Your knees quiver slightly And your skin hangs all dry Like creased denim, A wincing sadness in your eyes Like a 5am drunkard Stumbling through bird song. You compose yourself slowly Look up at the clouds And see geese fly, There’s the smell of logs burning And a calm, distant song Somewhere, The goosebumps And the memories, The cold you’ll move to warm. Reformed Meat
As a cockeyed dear brat
He liked to flee From enchantment, He would guzzle On the edges of joy And remove the keenness From every moment Until just the gristle shined. Exhausted in the backyard With his gang of made-up friends, All pristine garbed And lost in a vague sky, He would sit mildly morose Most mornings, Trapped in a hometown gloom. Whispering songs of distaste And wandering dust clouds, On the very cusp of fantasy, All bitter and broken, Dry lipped and Catholic, He was bird song to the tired, A single peg On an old washing line, A moulded meat on the side Waiting for signs The Last Leaves
Sometimes words linger
Like the last leaves decaying In an old wet park |
Whys Can SighI looked deep in her eyes
And saw nothing but you, I pieced together The words she unraveled, Bored and obtuse, I turned them into song And sung soft till the walls Took your shadows, Brought your scent here To remind me I’m drifting, A cornucopia Of imagined birdsong Greeting you In these windows reflecting, Distant whispers, The hours we spent here Talking wet rhymes and laughter, The guessing games And the patter, Does it matter I was wrong? Whys can sigh And then rise Now you’re gone. Second Draft
Demonstrations,
Cars on fire, A battle for power, The shivers of time, Goosebumps And hindsight, Human nature rotating, The cantankerous cackle And the rattling pockets Of the men who made good As streets burned And sons died. The bloodiest day Of a fictional war, Apocalypse With a twist, Lost heroes And the gossip of gunfire, The clatter of half truths Cracking and snapping The playwright’s Drawn mind, And the rippling gripe That the things he hates most Are the most true and humbling, A history crumbling, And he’s never been paid To just lie. Blink
There are words
All over the floor, A dustpan and brush, Awkward, Swollen pauses, And a silent, Two person queue For the bathroom. We let each other talk Between the barrage of sighs, Confused monologues crackling Like refrigerated bonfires, Explanations rattling Like loose roofs on a train - Then nothing But the whistle Of the wild winds outside And the gentle rumble of stomachs. Your food is in my freezer, Your shoes are in my hallway And you’re getting up to go. The door closes, And I stare out at nothing Till there’s nothing left to fear, Till the something I felt In the blink of an eye Is forgotten Like most things Once cherished. Silence Falls
Sometimes silence falls
On the cusp Of fading laughter And sticks, Just people left staring Through windows slowly misting, A crow on the phone wires, Gentle rainfall And the sound of cars In the distance, Driving somewhere Less tense. Sometimes we eat Till we’re sick, And then wonder why, It’s a less subtle sadness If you’re the kind that compares. Slumbering
She snores like a slumbering wolf,
Content in her snuffling rummage, Gentle fumes of spent wine Filling the room Like a soft scented dream. I lie listening peacefully Wondering if she’ll wake herself, Whisper a riddle and return To her deep wandering rumbles, The quaint breathy drones, The kind that sound happy, Lost in innocent times, She’s a smile wrapped in blankets, Sweet grizzles combined. |