February 2021
Neil Creighton
neil.creighton@bigpond.com
neil.creighton@bigpond.com
Author's Note: Part 3 (continued) Rosa to Morteza
Here is the second last group of Rosa’s exhortational poems to Morteza. Poor, idealistic Morteza had got himself in such a funk about things over which he had little control. Two of these poems have been previously published and once belonged to me. However, I give them to Rosa. They are hers now. She includes them here because she believes they are important to Morteza.
Here is the second last group of Rosa’s exhortational poems to Morteza. Poor, idealistic Morteza had got himself in such a funk about things over which he had little control. Two of these poems have been previously published and once belonged to me. However, I give them to Rosa. They are hers now. She includes them here because she believes they are important to Morteza.
VII
We wake to the flickering screen’s images of desperation and remorse, the bleak recounting of misdeeds, lies, greed, corruption, scenes of anger, partisan politics, accusation, analysis, implication, expectation, speculation, but above the fog is a blue-sky day, gum trees in nectar-filled explosion of blossom, air filled with flocks of beautiful rainbow lorikeets descending to joyously feast with their excited chatter and grey friar birds, dipping their dark heads to fill their curved beaks, singing their strange chokk-chokk-four-o-clock in unrestrained, joyous, raucous celebration.
Originally published in One Sentence Poems
VIII
The Forge The golden bird on golden bough first came from furnace fire, dross removed, skillfully hammered into object of desire. The curving razor sword that glints along its lustrous length was heated, folded, beaten into its shining strength. We much desire the forged-steel strength but not the hammer blows, yet we must bend before the forge from which the lustre grows.
Originally published in Praxis Mag Online
IX
Beyond the fog are myriad stars, diamond points of night embroidering the midnight sky. On days dark and cloudy spoked columns of light descend like ladders from high. Behind the zephyr waft is a vast, relentless, shifting heft. Within the shimmer of the sea is the crash on cliff and cleft. Rivers flow from source to sea in endless circularity and wind and water inevitably turn walls and towers into dust.
©2021 Neil Creighton
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the
author (email address above) to tell her or him. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual.
It is very important. -JL