Poetry

Four poems

As I Go Out

A coffee cup fills and empties

Is it sad or ready?

The sun rains through

the back window

The plum tree

showers its old leaves

a quiet song

not saying anything

There’s a kind of ash

in the air, a crush

of all that’s fallen

autumn’s fecund sigh

I am looking for my coat

my keys

A rosella lands on a low branch

I hear its parrot banter

as I go out

The door closes, the sky opens

Will it rain? Some day

The birds know where the sun

and clouds go

A coffee cup will not

tell me anything

It sits on the bench while I leave

without looking

The poem also holds its word

at the beginning

of the day

without saying anything

now, or yet

Sleep. Wake. Between

Some tired nights are just a put-on for sleeping

if wake-ups sometimes unfurl in uppercase bold

or wallow in triggering charades or hectic sense.

Shuttling through dreams and their unruly debriefings

I’m pieced together barely, as a funky slippage told

with an addition of madcap or cryptic interest.

But sometimes a tender morning is more austere

after the half-tones of a bad night that holds

a memory, a dazzle, of coupling in a glance.

Or if there’s a yield too barbed or piecemeal

it amplifies the early light jagging across a fence.

The Next Song

After listening to Satie’s Gymnopédies No. 1

why doesn’t the rain appear happy

what is a better word than no

who has failed at a door

why does tonight taste like grit

is “slow and sad” an invitation or a result

how long can a voice tremble

could the next song contain everything

how ancient is a day

why does the sunlight flicker like tears

what is a better word than yes

Set-ups

The century hides its crimes in a desk

or broadcasts them on an app.

Sorrow surrounds you like

a parenthesis.

The dark was a pinhole

but it is still a fright.

The garlands say so.

The alphabet writes “ignominy”

but makes no comment.

Skulls shape the ground

around the bombed hospital.

All the toys are spread out in the rain.

This article was first published in the print edition of The Saturday Paper on July 5, 2025 as "Four poems".

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