OWEN BULLOCK
Somewhere in that mass of rock
extreme heat
under each tree
a thin patch of shade
spray of dust
dog
terriers the ball
7pm
a schoolkid pulls
a wheelie
wanting
a quick fix, I look at
the stars
you water the garden . . .
oregano drifts in
surrendering
your love flows
over me
rain
on the outdoor chair
summer’s end
a leaf turns over
peewees peck
as the earth wobbles
you call me Jock
in my old brown
moleskin jacket
swirling winds
the tennis coach
serves a leaf
autumn
my steps
echo
hello, rock
I like the way
you’ve turned pink
ripples through dark water dusk takes the duck and I
the poets
want nice imagery . . . rubbish
round the wharf
somewhere
in that mass of rock
a tiny fissure
cracks open
conference –
I start worrying about my
teeth
what’s compassion . . .
evening star
in the sky
grey cloud
white corellas
flock
raindrops
in the headlights, raindrops
raindrops bouncing off the road
grumpy
but your perfume
melts me
don’t stop singing, magpie
because I
happen along
spirits
cavort in leaves
windswirl
brown water
after so much rain
tears won’t come
graffitied
the bark
shedding
getting older
looking like my ancestors . . .
but for now it’s spring
wattle bird
half-scoffs a dragonfly
the rest to its young
long after dinner
the basil
on my hands
mist across the oval crater of muted light
Remembrance Day
silence the water spill
on the floor
through flowers’ light-strewn edges to the cosmos’ end
in the silence
the aircon murmurs
a prayer
Christmas morning
the snail trails
on the carpet
will death
be a vision of light
late afternoon
sun on the peach tree
frangipani
and pigeon . . .
the way you click
your glasses shut
some little circle
in an iron gate
celebrates my name
emergency admissions
do you have a religion
he yawns
Owen Bullock has published three collections of poetry, five books of haiku and a novella, the most recent being Summer Haiku (2019) and Work & Play (2017). He has a website for his research into poetry and process, at Poetry in Process. He teaches creative writing at the University of Canberra.