B: V: The Albatross

Whatever else it may be doing
Spirit orders order
To alter its arrangements.
Order tires slowly
Sensing no way out
Or, knowing no sense in it all,
Grows a grand ambition
To do without itself,
Leave spirit free to get on with
Whatever else it's doing.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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B: I: The Meaning of 'Wild

Death's the comfiest place
You could retire to,
After all the strife,
Like bed's the softest place
After a hard day's life.

But dreams, they can be wild.
Containing all the past,
All the future too,
Death must be a wild, wild place
You must retire to.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Never-know-it-all and Know-it-all

I never knew what love was
When I hadn't loved at all.
Once I loved I knew it
And knew that I would always love
By never knowing all.

I knew what was love
When I hadn't loved at all,
Knew that when it came along
It didn't stand a chance
Because I knew it all.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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B: VII: The Glove

In the beginning was the love.
It oozed itself around him,
Gradually became his glove.
Warmth became addictive.

Love left for easier hands.

The glove stayed on for summer-
The sweat! that he got into
For fear a misplaced glove would mean
A cold and loveless winter.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Mrs Robinson II

Finely tuned
He topped his heights
With extra draughts of nectar.
He could see humour and sorrow in all.

Amusement in a mountain
Brought a tear
For friend not here
And never here again.

Sorrow-skewed,
Her life her plight,
No more topping
To her delight...
...or his.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Great Grief

William's son, named Hamnet,
died in 1596,
aged just eleven and a half
when Will was thirty two.
Will's great grief
made greater grief
to compensate for loss.
It mixed a wild concoction,
made grieving man go mad.
Hamlet given no relief
relieved sad Shakespeare's grief.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Creation

Creation plays upon your power
To keep it under control,
To give it line to think it's king,
To call it a day and reel it in.

It plays upon your love
To keep you under control,
To give you line to think you're king
And always on a roll,
To call it a day and reel you in.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Thoughtless Beauty

Only thoughtless beauty
Could produce the horrid things
That make the dying worse.
You think such beauty's too perverse
To merit any worship.
Needing a certain piety
You laud the horrid things-
Less worse, you say, than beauty.
Beauty comes back harder-
seducing with variety.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Down 'n Brown in Darwin

Fil's birthday being early May
She threw an Easter party.
Everyone brought eggs.
The power went off,
The chocolate soft,
Dali-ed in its foil.
It flowed across the lino floor,
No-one could keep their legs.
'Down South will laugh out loud for sure.
Take photos, please! ' Fil begs.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Liz Asks Me To Read The Bible

Word of God is all we have.
There is no God of sense.
Not having sense the Word is packed,
Choc-a-bloc with stuff and nonsense.

I'm averse to choc when it's a-bloc,
So tell me please, dear Liz,
Does anywhere exist Word version,
Leaves out the choc,
Leaves in why God's my biz?

poem by Douglas Scotney
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