SOME BEAUTIFUL AUSTRALIAN POETRY VIA KATHY EARSMAN.

Final Toast By Judie Peet

To tracks I shall not walk
and trails I’ll never blaze,
to sun-kissed hues of far-off views
on which I’ll never gaze.

To birds I didn’t see,
and those I didn’t know,
to folk I guess I won’t impress
with bird lists I might show.

To trees I failed to save
and those that I have grown
to forests where I breathed the air
that Eden might have known.

To men I didn’t kiss
when I was young and shy,
to those I would now if I could —
to dreams I’ve let float by.

To those I might have helped
and good I might have done,
to happy tears and love-filled years,
gee whiz, I’ve had some fun.

______________________________

Kathy Earsman Fall of a Sparrow.

The sparrow trembles in my hand. It’s cold,
its feathers wet, bedraggled by the storm
that threw it down so savagely. I fold
my coat around to shield it, keep it warm.

A scratch of tiny talons now; it shifts
its weight to cuddle down. I sigh, then start
about to face the wind.The sparrow lifts
itself again in darkness, like my heart.

How frail we are, this bird and I! The flame
that fires the atom drives the smallest cell,
but there’s a greater mystery. It’s name
is life. It’s precious, we protect it well.

I reach a hut. At last my fears subside.
We sleep, though faith and logic rage outside.

_____________________________________________

Kathy Earsman Ode to a Lost Falcon.

Beloved bright and beautiful, we mourn;
they say you fell. We hear they found you dead
this morning on a balcony, and torn
by stronger winds we weep for you who fed
on life as we do, helplessly. We saw
you born from falconshell, upon a ledge
of pebbles high within our city’s heart
and through a voyeurs’ eye, we saw you fledge.
And though we shivered at the way you tore
at life, we marvelled, loved you even more
for fierceness and skill, the killer’s art.

Beloved bold and beautiful, we cry
for you. We empathise, for we who grasp
at life with passion, understand; we try
our eager wings against the wind, we clasp
the things we love so strongly, yet we take
the risk of crashing as we lift on air.
Oh fierce avian we say goodbye
in sadness; you were young. Our hearts will ache
in memory of you when falcons play.
We’ll watch them plunge and wheel in joy; we’ll say
it is for freedom that we live and die.

Beloved bright and beautiful, we mourn;
they say you fell. We hear they found you dead
this morning on a balcony, and torn
by flaying winds we weep for you who fed
on life as we do, helplessly. We saw
you born from falconshell, upon a ledge
of pebbles high within our city’s heart,
where through a voyeurs’ eye we watched you fledge.
And though we shivered at the way you tore
at life, we marvelled, loved you even more
for fierceness and skill, the killer’s art.

Beloved bold and beautiful, we cry
for you. We empathise, for we who grasp
at life with passion, understand; we try
our eager wings against the wind, we clasp
the things we love so strongly, yet we take
the risk of crashing as we lift on air.
Oh fierce avian we say goodbye
in sadness; you were young. Our hearts will ache
in memory of you when falcons play.
We’ll watch them plunge and wheel in joy; we’ll say
it is for freedom that we live and die.

________________________________

Lost to Alzhiemers

It’s cold. I wake alone and crawl to blow
these embers into life. The mist is damp,
diffusing sunrise mystically. A glow
extends across the lake where, from my camp,
I see a vee-shaped flock of ducks appear
at vision’s end. They beat, beat, beat in line
becoming ever clearer as they near
the shore. I count them. There are nine, aligned…
but one is falling, spinning down to crash
in frantic thrashes; suddenly it’s gone,
adrift in ashen fog. No ripples splash,
and all the other ducks keep flying on.

Forgive me if I cry my love, because
I cannot bear to leave you there in Never Was.

____________________________________

Kathy Earsman Enjoying Nature.

The ocean called his name, the simple heart
of him. He came, deep breathed the pristine air
in great long sighs, and closed his eyes… the dartof sharp-finned stresses slowed and drifted, ere

on inner tides, and when he walked, at peace,
along the long, long stretch of untouched sand,
the gentle waters lapped his feet in cease-
less warm caress. He lit a smoke and scanned

the endless sparkle blending into sky,
contemplatively quaffed another beer,
then threw the empty bottle, arced it high
to glisten amber light. It splashed down near

another. What a great trajectory!
Relaxed, content, he pissed into the sea.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s