Tuesday poem: ‘…Transient creatures that swarm and multiply…’
October 10, 2016
‘…Transient creatures that swarm and multiply…’
Galaxies expanding —
every grass patch blinks
with five hundred petalled suns.
Bees travel between them
mining pollen from stars.
Aliens hover amongst us,
just like us in gold lust
and frantic accumulation.
For us, though,
it’s always spring,
exempt from rumours
of compromising change.
Our ears are buzzing
with far less than bees.
The canals are Martian,
quite epically empty.
P.S. Cottier
The quotation in the title is from The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells. The quote refers to microscopic creatures, but we shall not quibble. The canals on Mars, exploited in the poem for a pun, turned out to be mere features of topography (Here I must insert a green alien saying ‘That’s what you think!’ followed by a sinister laugh. It’s compulsory.)
Mining anything from stars would be a tad difficult, I know, but I’ll flourish my poetic licence on that one, to any cruising and literal minded traffic cops of the blogosphere.
There’s a great tradition of books about creating a breathable atmosphere on Mars, and I’m also harnessing that to a poem partly about our rabid experimentation with earth’s climate.
It’s amazing where a patch of daisies can lead you!
UPDATE: So the gutless NSW Premier has changed his mind on banning greyhound racing. Cruelty 1, Compassion 0. I’ll be interested to see what the ACT government does in response.
Tuesday poem: Old men’s ears
May 12, 2014
Old men’s ears
half lettuce and half slug
sprouting sound
P.S. Cottier
Hair growing from noses and ears is a peculiar phenomenon, and one that seems to have spawned a whole lot of gadgets, mostly invented in the United States. Advertisements for this desirable kit now grace television screens in Australia. Americans groom themselves with a missionary fervour, spouting platitudes from the same faces which recently sprouted hairs.
I think I prefer the hairs.
I am currently going mad awaiting the arrival of the anthology for which there are two launches in June, as detailed in my last post. Nightmare scenarios grow in my brain like cerebral hairs.
And no-one has invented a worry remover that will work on those unwanted growths.
Click this feather and see if there are any other poems about body parts posted by the Tuesday Poets. I suppose a feather is a body part. Or perhaps just a bird’s hair.
PS Cottier 