Man with Pigs

My name was Legion, ha,
                                                   we were many, and
gashed our heads
                                      on those gravestones.
Didn't know what we really wanted -
                                                              (lurching to greet the
True Man, as his fans called him,
                                      and shouting at the same time:
                                                                           'Go Away!')
- Such violence to my real self
                                             (he told me);
such fear which tossed me
                                                                         tomb to tomb.
... But since the pigs have drowned,
                                                  I limp towards my own cliff.

More poetry by James Charlton


Hobart 4 pm, mid-winter

Residual Limbs

High Country, Behind Hobart

The Man Who Gropeth Forever


St Kilda Beach

Reviews of James Charlton's poetry

Anne Kellas, reviewing Luminous Bodies

David Kelly, reviewing So Much Light
       (and Stephen Edgar's History of the Day)