St Kilda Beach

Far out from the clammy city
        the coastal verge remains voluptuous;
                scented breezes, hazy skies,

states of undress. A cat sways by
        on pendulous legs; creepers straggle
                over wooden frames.

A walk-through rosemary clump
        and a beach of hot sand; an urge
                to explore, but a feeling of torpor.

This shuttered guest house is cool, subdued;
        its small mats scattered like after-thoughts
                on floors of grey-black marble.

An aspidistra has latticed with roots
        an ancient pot. Now and then, a silhouette
                of the woman I desire.

More poetry by James Charlton


Residual Limbs

Hobart 4 pm, mid-winter

Man with Pigs

High Country, Behind Hobart

The Man Who Gropeth Forever



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)