Car poems
/ page 609 of 738 /
To Henrietta Lyn
© Ivan Donn Carswell
We're going to miss you little girl, you leave an aching space
way out of all proportion to your size. Tomorrow we must face the day
without your lavish greeting - without your urgent bark to wake us up
and say, "Let me out of here, the sun is up, I want to play."
Time to play
© Ivan Donn Carswell
It is a pristine page, clean on the blue screen
where I compose, I dont expect it to stay that way
as words glow from blunt, abused fingers, as insistent
sounds in my head translate into sentence structures,
Tickets to the game
© Ivan Donn Carswell
I asked my Dad about the War when I was very young,
he said it happened a long, long time ago
and a long, long way away, he seemed a little vague
on the subject so I relented, I thought he hadnt attended.
Thought it was America
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Is there anything which isnt made in China?
The answer is
of course there is, the question
was rhetorical, a crude attempt to palliate
Chinas late renaissance; eighty years ago youd say
that nothing was or nothing much that
mattered was, and still been wrong.
This Window is
© Ivan Donn Carswell
This window is confidence,
documenting proceedings,
capturing moments,
cleansing views
This House Which Is Lived In
© Ivan Donn Carswell
This house which is lived in resounds
with the chorus of voices bound in the press
of its generous, unconcealed blessings;
affection is neither distressed nor restrained,
On the Bill Which Was Passed in England For Regulating the Slave-Trade
© Helen Maria Williams
The hollow winds of night no more
In wild, unequal cadence pour,
Thinking of an Afterlife
© Ivan Donn Carswell
When was the beginning,
in the fertilising, in the flower,
or was it deeper,
in the earth beneath?
The Waipakihi
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Access Road Fifteen they named it
this anonymous road to the Waipakihi
where its brawling water becomes Tongariro.
A moments journey across a horizon
anchored in haze-ridden Taupomoana
distanced, but jewelled in my thoughts.
The same embrace
© Ivan Donn Carswell
We talked with family last night, not mine or yours
specifically but ours, the ones we love familiarly. When
little Jake (though not so little now) was heard to say ,
Goodbye, I gotta go, it was like our hearts were breaking;
The Reason Why Im Fat
© Ivan Donn Carswell
I thought my father was far too fat eagerly I told him so,
if he was offended it didnt show and I dont recall
where that strange conversation went. Now I know
he was offended as I am too, it is not a jibe to
The Price Of Parting
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Will they be there for you when you die?
Will they hold your hands and cry until youve breathed
your last? Is it too much to ask? While love is free
in tearful task the price of parting wears
The Price of Fame
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Do I really love you? So let me guess, youll think Im easy prey
if I say, okay I do but it wont get in the way of my impending fame;
I will be famous, be assured of that, and please to keep it hidden in
your fancy beggars hat. Be it fame or notoriety, Ill need to parley that,
The power of the Lake
© Ivan Donn Carswell
The power of the Lake lingers still
so many years beyond its fascination
ending; it was there in the beginning,
an unveiling of towering sensitivities,
The perfect cup
© Ivan Donn Carswell
We were born of tea, our mum could drink fourteen
cups a day, an awesome feat to try to rationalise,
beyond belief unless you knew where we had one
she would have two. The perfect cup, she said,
The Logic Of This State
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Marking time in pencil strokes across a virgin page
and waiting for coincidence of heart-beat and second-hand,
keying to the electronic blips that phase
the passing time; visionary states of grace
The light was always you
© Ivan Donn Carswell
In the beginning there was light,
abundant light that truly lit the way,
time was never lost in dodging flights
of feckless shadows and darkness seldom
The Last Unicorn
© Ivan Donn Carswell
We were never set to let her free
from facile bonds, we fondly loved
mythology too much to let her go
and kept her chained beyond
the scheme of sessile separation.
The last excuse
© Ivan Donn Carswell
What is left now that weve used the last excuse,
what is left to justify excess. The rhetoric at best
was very thin when things began, but to suggest
we must remain and play the hand were dealt
