Life poems

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Of Such Simplicity

© Ivan Donn Carswell

You and me,
the proof is there to see,
our lives are held within the spell of great simplicity,
were free of all the shadows dwelling in the hall,

It was my life in fast review, initially at double speed
until I learned which functions scrolled the images
on screen. I could pause, freeze frame advance,
endlessly replay and alter sound although the thing

No conscience in escape

© Ivan Donn Carswell

Should you be allowed sole privilege
of unconscionable martyrdom?
This affliction is self-pity brought by suffering
as penitent to unrequited lust.

My enemy my friend

© Ivan Donn Carswell

My enemy my friend
whom I know without compromise,
when I listened to the
deconstructions avowed of you

Mountains of Delight

© Ivan Donn Carswell

The problem was the manner of choice
(or whether there was a choice for that matter)
as you had taken those options to yourself,
choosing as you had to do, and as it was right for you,
there is no shame in that and no reproving,
but my alternatives were emptied by your doing.

The Fishing Outfit

© Edgar Albert Guest

You may talk of stylish raiment,

You may boast your broadcloth fine,

Mornings Reflections

© Ivan Donn Carswell

Were meetings predestined then ours was intended,
great oracles decreed it as fate, and the auguries chattered
with sweet benefactors and fêted to chance with a face.
We were then both separate and free in our choosing

Lethargy of leaden wings

© Ivan Donn Carswell

Sure, I sip my lemon tea with spoon of amber honey,
trying to decide which things to do, things I didnt need
to think about before this day, praying for the strength
to ride these doldrums out, to see them to their squalid end.

The Acorn

© Francis William Bourdillon

An acorn swung
On an oak-tree bough;
So long it had hung,
It would fain fall now

Jessie of Gibraltar

© Ivan Donn Carswell

Our lives were founded on this rock, this Jessie of Gibraltar
Whose unfailing love endured beyond her ample nursing,
And we grew out of a rich and favoured childhood aware
Her powers were real (we tested them enough to know their soundness) into

Ill have to change my mind

© Ivan Donn Carswell

Ill have to change my mind on war, I need to take a break
from structured thought; theres more to peace - it dictates
a longer oar to keep the calm than takes to make a little war.
Our history as a people is a theatre of strife and where

Bannerman of the Dandenong

© Alice Werner

I rode through the Bush in the burning noon,
Over the hills to my bride, -
The track was rough and the way was long,
And Bannerman of the Dandenong,
He rode along by my side.

I Mark Your Courage

© Ivan Donn Carswell

I had no profound feelings of shock or surprise
to those matter-of-fact revelations
which spelled the end of this chapter of your life.
It was, as you put it, too late for recriminations,
and the horrendous realities could be no worse
for having faced them.

I love you in the morning

I love you in the morning and at the setting of the sun
And in the hours of darkness before the day's begun
And in my waking solitude to greet the break of dawn
I grant you sleep that extra hour, although you sleep alone.

Piano by Patrick Phillips: American Life in Poetry #173 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

© Ted Kooser

Poets are especially good at investing objects with meaning, or in drawing meaning from the things of this world. Here Patrick Phillips of Brooklyn, New York, does a masterful job of comparing a wrecked piano to his feelings. Piano

Touched by your goodness, I am like
that grand piano we found one night on Willoughby
that someone had smashed and somehow
heaved through an open window.

Bluebeard: Sonnet VI

This door you might not open, and you did;

So enter now, and see for what slight thing

Hidden dangers

Which things excited you the most when you were young,
can you recall the pleasures they would bring? Indulge
yourself, dispose your mind of daily care and take
the plunge but beware, theres hidden dangers here.

The Nativity

Upon my meanness, poverty, and guilt,
The trophy of thy glory shall be built;
My selfdisdain shall be the unshaken base,
And my deformity its fairest grace;
For destitute of good, and rich in ill,
Must be my state and my description still.