Three poems

If I were Poet Laureate: a mandate

 

1. Acrostics across the sky

Petrarchan sonnets on bridges

connecting lovers on opposite cities.

 

2. Low-flying drones to drop care packages

a confetti of verses on downtrodden heads

scraps of bibliotherapy for the desolate.

 

3. Neon glow-in-the-dark chalk deployed

by a ragtag of street urchins

cursive beacons in the inky gloom.

 

4. Public transit graffitied with couplets

literal concrete poetry on worksites

ballads on bollards tankas on Tonka trucks.

 

5. Haiku hung aloft every streetlamp

elegies sung by honeyeaters with golden bells

a choral cantata to rouse the sunken.

I don’t love you any time

after Miss Saigon

 

Hey don’t get mad this is not for you

 

you’re not rich white

in velvet seats

saucer eyes waiting

 

for overripe tropes of war

to theatre-rise & muzak gush:

Vietnam whorehouses US helicopters

 

Asian women in their ao dais dancing

for saviours on the other side of the earth

(that’s how they find their worth)

 

watch the cosseted swallow

reheated Madama Butterfly

staleness fishboned in their throats

 

loving it anyway why wouldn’t they

mouth along to this paternalistic paean

plump throats thrilling to the beat

 

of diverse colours validation

composed by two French men

with colonialism in their blood ink

 

razor-edged circumscribing

forever roles to the fetishised wounded

(hey ingrates at least you lot appear on stage.)

 

Free style poem as interpretative dance

 

Imagine: arms and legs akimbo

                                jutting

out at inelegant angles

bunny hops to the pentameter beat

pirouette at any

           *twirl* enjambment

 

neck bent awkward to one side

then the other

that’s a new stanza

 

on tiptoes now fingertips

in worshipful reach

            to the moon

 

back to the audience shrug

this bit here

is impenetrable who knows what it means

 

star jump for anything in italics

soft shoe shuffle to build momentum

 

Sufi whirling (for the refrain)

 

slow waltz to the music in your head

only you can hear so keep ’em guessing

 

jaunty skip slide across the floorboards

jazz hands taaaa-daaaaa

see this clever

         wordplay right here

quick now

boom tish

curtsy

a flourish end

on pointe for full stop

 

no one has time for an epic heroic poem.