About Me

Sydney, Australia
Composer, conductor and flute teacher.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Old Poetry - 10th April 1999

It is a simple procedure to go along
doing
what you believe
is right.
What you believe
is wrong.

The patient: one is suffering
complications,
DOCTOR!
Will somebody please assess the damage -
what has been broken?
what may be repaired?
what must be sacrificed?
what hope-
quickly, we're losing blood.

Superior, this wing is a mess! O
how easy it would be, to run away
from it all... et al
(to stretch the hurt so far and wide
to thin it to transparency...)
how wrong
for something so dear and valued
is worth the troubled heart-aching effort
to pursue
recover
repair.
Superior, I cleanse the wounds, slowly,
remove the grit; they are coming clean. But
how ever are these bones to be set?
who ever should it be to set them?
Superior, I cannot find the heart!
How is this sweet so bitter?
Oh look! this ugly beauty is so very
black... and
blue...
Recussitate this vegetable!

Stranger, does this bone belong to you?
Stranger: oh, 'tis but a trifling shattered fragment
not the real thing,
it is of no use to anyone.
Strange. Where then lie the missing pieces?

What will I find at the end of this oil-slicked rainbow?

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