3 poems by Robert Verdon

glad and young

 

possum-thunder across the tin roof
wakes half of Ainslie, it seems
the rain comes down angry
at the world and cats spat in the
darkest corners of the house
as they have done for decades
and I cannot sleep now for
fretting about the mortality of
it all, and I roll over and dream
of you, there we are always young
enough to forget the earth gaping
or smoke drifting across
the new moon like a witch, and in
the morning I rise and leave again,
while you sleep on in the next room,
and over coffee at home I pine for
Elysium.

 

 

Monday’s Child

 

lemon wind on this school morning

in the needle box of home

fraying sunrays through the awning

lemon wind on this school morning

heart a-shudder with its warning

neat and cold from winters comb

lemon wind on this school morning

in the needle box of home

 

 

The Crows

 

they came

suddenly before seven

a whole fist of crows in the tree by the dark back lawn

a threnody, a cacophony

cawing, cawing

that grim reaper tune

or were they just squabbling over something

tiny and dying?

 

 

About the contributor

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