I can't remember who taught me
to wander aimlessly,
gazing at things which shine
of themselves.
Mine was a childhood
spent bowing
to emperor gum moths,
spider orchids, jewel beetles.
Perhaps an inner pressure
led me to watch
and simply wonder
as things emerged
to find their own true nature.

More poetry by James Charlton

St Kilda Beach

Hobart 4 pm, mid-winter

Man with Pigs

High Country, Behind Hobart

The Man Who Gropeth Forever

Residual Limbs


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)