Not Knowing from Where

Not knowing from where
it issues, a rhinoceros say,
the word, the creature that it is,
the idea, genesis,
history, habitat...
you'd think the wonder of it
would virtually kill us stone dead
with amazement,
gratitude, delight;
language, stirred up out of our mouths,
indentured with meaning, discovery, exuberance,
our communal mind stuttering, seeking the match
for the observed grand thing,
the experience.

Authentic Poems

Authentic poems
are mischievous rats
scrambling, scribbling,
rabbits from hats

In second/third grade at Essendon
1949
yours truly convened
behind the shelter sheds

poetry of secrets
of not quite knowing
of nakedness

lest we forget
lest we forget

It used to rain properly then, after the war
and it was cold, no heating
bluestone walls
handknits with holes where the worn-out wool was frayed
wide enough to stick your finger in

the asphalt in summer burned our feet
and we "got the strap"

Yet genius dug deeply into its family plots
the small shovel of enquiry scraping up
against whatever was planted there

authentic poems leaned down from the flowering gums
authentic poems hid in the corners of unfurnished rooms
and bit into salty potato cakes
and noticed where a teacher put his hands

mischievous rats scampering in the night
the rabbito man on his rounds

authentic poems
scrambled and scribbled in spelling books
and recipe books
disclosing how it is, and how it was,
inviting bitterness

the visiting magician's wand
rabbits from hats

authentic poems, lest we forget,
made cause for punishment and screams
torn up and ridiculed
lest we forget, lest we forget
and sacrificed to fire

their narrative warmth
sparks rhythm to flame
scorching the flimsy summer frock of childhood
slow-burning a hole in its fabric
wide enough to stick your finger in

wide enough for your whole hand to fit...
authentic poems are written there on skin.

Melting

Is it our warm hearts and hands
melting the ice?
Our grasp of global?
(our understanding being not limited or
provincial in its scope)

Ah! we might wish to be so warm,
so heartfelt, universal,
human, pulsing with the hot blood of caring,
evolving to be sisters, brothers.

"Share with us" we'd cry warmly,
to people with nothing, desperate people,
broken, assaulted people;
"Together we'll demolish barbed fences,
lay down these black weapons of condemnation,
rebuild the righteous barricades
and light small campfires against their timbers
for our mutual sustenance."

Then the ice choking our arteries
might deliquesce, a timely thaw melting it
all the way down
to the frozen old reptilian bones.