John Anderson
Three poems
Unidentified Bird
Night parcel unidentified bird
barrelling through
on its own god’s business
corpulent and prompt
The hour’s low light
deep green
through its mottle of grey feathers
The hour
when the school oval became
the Island of the Dead
And you were pledged
to that same dark upward current
that is always striking
the turrets of the cypresses
(from The Shadow’s Keep:)
and a pendulum and am loving
I am a thistle with open arms. I caught fire in the valley
Wonder
Should we have done this?
Hands talking together in the blending street
the power of being attached to somebody just tears some
people apart
my pants in the boom swing
my polar citation of devote
Let ever weaning softness break
at dawn he led the life of the bright of bright red
in the dress of a long flicker across the desert we came to know
more and rhythm of the beautiful fire region
doing it for ages in the termite wild light
all around with dust like a warmth around your face
the leaf in, leaf out of you — terminal
the night climbs the day
the woman soars to Earth
the mermaid. His own mesh with the sea
make court, howling to
the moon. Our sea’s glove
a hard grinder against a lantern like you
I slept like the Welsh coast
love, the cartographer’s way
until we are theirs they are not ours
Every night in Colorado
tomatoes, potatoes, my rapscallion heart
Words forgotten since we last talked. Shall we bake away? Sweet words
When we hold our heads and between us sings the urge of silver
the sang cherry is probably sweeter
— — — — —
the inferior man is always ready for a rebuff. Failing one, he administers it himself
the world as suffered by Sigmund Freud
hurt is the customary invocation of those who cannot yet see
a nice ivory let down
he gave the local smile something to draw from
under the bunion of whom?
they created the eagle for fear of love
Am I a seed, or am I everybody’s valued enactment of both sides?
to self hatred yields a higher dingo
— — — — —
the world is set an illegal grey
the composed red at the traffic lights
the maker of the show biz black duck
John, he has a round struggle before he clears the mystal ring of pickets
but derelict may wind him to unpopular harmonies
he makes porridge of his name
I think you have what Rotty gave Bad before, John
(from The Shadow’s Keep:)
the two of us worked in a boat once, just to keep our sized natures
those who are equal to the boat’s equal multitude and proceed
we both of us know how to take a journey around a bathtub
the famous chatting saint of idle generals
busy hounds use the rush
great bird, have something to do, it might have something to do with decency, there is a wisp that is not a bird, now get back to being a bird
my god, if he wants to move off he’d better chase his fleet
at a party there’s a whole lot of people you have to rev up before you get re blast
many teachers of the new science would not survive if they behaved like that in a rock and roll band. For example, the fire watcher has to know that his profession is linked to the horse’s gallop
in becoming one with the city one creates endurance within oneself for work outside the city
the outside mechanism helps the inside mechanism to work
the inside mechanism helps the outside mechanism to work
the responsibility of the era and on the ardent youths
While sentinel you live
Three years jurisprudence with the Athenians and Red Indians
Whatever hurts will be an exhibition door
even in the ditching the hollow dog makes his cave
Well, the day got through the day without the sun
Do everything as the big tortoise big. There are still places has to go
The tortoise. He lives and smells by streams
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