Those 'rippling rivers' have a lot to answer for
Hang on Max where are the dogs here??
P
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
Behalf Of Max Richards
Sent: 25 March 2008 23:55
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: snap: bell birds
Bell Birds
were calling me along under the riverside trees
to the bend I used to haunt in my restless forties;
leaving my wife in the car with her book
'Dreams of Love and Fateful Encounters:
The Power of Romantic Passion'
(I kid you not) I trod the old path,
dry as Išve ever seen it, past the anglers
casting their lines on the dappled river,
past the young couple sunning after their swim.
At forty Išd see them with a jealous pang.
Where had my sensuous life vanished?
I wanted to be by a twig fire there
in the dusk sharing scorched sausages,
then cuddling under a rug while
the rippling river music sang up
a full moon to swim towards its mirrored
fragments. With whom? Not the mother
of my children, sorry. Some dream girl.
Who, when I found her, stirred shared
romantic passionš (if less than scorching).
Well, wešre married now; rather than
a river walk, shešs curled up with
that book, while I plod down the old path.
No skinny-dipping today, solo or shared.
Back at the car, passion is being analysed.
Max Richards
Doncaster, Victoria
26 March 2008
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18:50
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