Tuesday Poem - Conversations

Conversations

The power goes off and I blame possums
when I realise we're the only house
in darkness. You blame the Smartmeter,
the power company and defend
the possums.

Over dinner (by camp-lantern light)
you tell me unequivocally
that one of my students - a bloke
you have never met -
was a pothead in his youth. 

You weren't even supposed to be eating -

you'd put yourself on a three day fast.
(It lasted until three o'clock
of the first day, as predicted.)
We both say, everything's always my fault
in the same aggrieved tone.
You bring me a cup of tea and the world news
every morning before I'm awake.
I begin my days pessimistically with cold tea
while I listen to the possums in the ceiling
scrape nests in our insulation.
Of course, it wasn't a possum but a loose
connection that cut our power and when that
was fixed the whole house blazed again -

and isn't that how it always happens?

Catherine Bateson, 2013

If you want a poetry conversation, check out the Tuesday poem feature by clicking here to read a wonderful poem on resilience by Keith Westwater, curated/edited by Alicia Ponder - and from here, travel the world of Tuesday poems.

On Pebble Beach - Tuesday Poem

On Pebble Beach

Every few waves and the undertow rumbles

the boulders over each other and then the next

bowls them back to the beach –

percussive, rounded shoulders

some head-sized, some heart

tumbled over

wearing each other down.

The undertow of our words

rolling so easily

shushing and plosive.

Listen, you said,

(and I listened to the brief beach music)

after an hour of that

a body would be bruised beyond

identification.

(Sometimes I hear my voice and wonder

if it is really me speaking.)

Catherine Bateson, 2013

Oh dear, not the best photo, I'm afraid. You get to this beach via the longest boardwalk I have ever been on. On the other side of the ridge, four surfers caught waves, neatly avoiding the rocks, even when they came back into shore. They must surf there often to know the safe ways in. 

Now that you've caught the sun and salt, take a mosey on over to the Tuesday Poetry Blog by clicking here to read a classic New Zealand rugby poem, 'The All Blacks' - check out the photos, too. From the hub, visit other Tuesday poems and have a lyrical week.

If you want a poetry writing exercise, think about a place you've visited and - working from something about that place - use it to explore some element of a relationship. 

Can you see the top of it? And there's the Cape Shank lighthouse just to the left.

A Small Night Poem - Tuesday Poem

Small Night Poem

The fish hang silver in the water

like small wishes. The filters

make small bubbles soothing dreams.

Catfish sucker up the glass.

When I first moved here, our bedroom

housed two large aquariums

and all night the fish would flicker

through their safe water

mysterious and simple

while we plotted our life –

which we thought was

mysterious but never

simple even though

there were days 

that simply unfolded

like wishes 

that had come completely 

true.

Catherine Bateson, 2013.

 

I've been feeling overwhelmed lately. There's so much to do and it's only weeks before I head overseas and I'll be there for soooo long, it feels like, and I haven't been away from home for that long before and it's all too much! Last night I had such fearful dreams, I woke this morning jangled and alarmed. This poem is a kind of antidote for all that jangling. 

When you've been soothed - and I hope you are soothed by this small night poem - do take a look at the Tuesday Poem blog - click here - it's our birthday collaboration poem, improvised over a number of weeks. Great fun to watch it unfold slowly - and a little intimidating to add a stanza!

Tuesday Poem - a Keatsian moment

Bright Star

 

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art  ̶
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors  ̶  

No  ̶  yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever  ̶  or else swoon to death. 

John Keats

Time to draw breath in this busy world we've made. A moment of respite. I've been walking the old dog, who can only manage the smallest walk these days, up the street at night. Melbourne has had beautifully clear nights and where we live the stars can be very visible. Which is not why I chose this poem! I chose this poem because I've been fretting at night over this and that, sleeping fitfull and waking up to write lists in my head. Not 'sweet unrest' at all. So I'm posting this poem to remind myself of an age when I did lay awake, content to listen to the steady breath of the person next to me. Just in posting this I've taken some time to listen to the words and their melody - a gentle reminder to step outside one's own anxieties.

To take a step into the world of words and have a look at how the Tuesday Birthday Poem is becoming, click here - and from here, visit the other worlds of tuesday poems. 

Monopoly - Tuesday Poem

Monopoly

This kind of day years ago

we’d break out Monopoly

cheap wine and chips

and later, gentled with booze,

we might make soup together

while the kids told silly stories

the tantrums over Whitehall  ̶

and all your hotels – washed away

in the bedtime bath.

I wonder, writing this,

whether you hear set-in rain

and think of those Monopoly afternoons,

that always ended in our daughter’s tears.

We, all of us, live with different people now.

The dog’s the only constant –

and she sleeps through most day

paws scurrying her through dream paddocks.

Today I felt the same sad I felt back then,

when everythingfell slowly apart 

until we stretchedout on the loungeroom floor,

arguing over who got the top hat

who the shoe and you looked over their heads

at me and threw the dice.

Catherine Bateson, 2013.

I would say that summer is pretty well over in Melbourne - of course, this being Melbourne, we can still be surprised! I was trying to avoid a 'winter is coming' kind of joke  - there - I've done it for you. Relieved? Warm yourself on some poetic fire over at the Tuesday Poem Hub - where you can witness the third blog birthday communal poem being written. From the hub, you can skive off and find other poems -  cosy, fired-up, and flaming!