Marilyn Peck: ‘beds creak in the night’, ‘A Wasp Carries Leaves’ and ‘You Go To My Head’
beds creak in the night
beds creak in the night
as feet tangle top sheet
when turning over
noises and beepings
sing an octave in c major
while being monitored
cardiac ward’s
patients are all plugged in
and drugged for the night
morning then daylight
blood pressure measures impress
doctors make their rounds
make their announcements
their prognostications bleak
what can they improve
staying alive
when all is not yet over
is the main aim
Marilyn Peck
A Wasp Carries Leaves
Wasp scurries as it flies, seeking a protected
Place. Wasp’s preordained attention is to
Procreation. Clutching to its breast a leaf-
Proportioned relative to stresses of an upright
Stem, slowing on its progress from a tassel-
Flowered tree nearby, wasp flies, slow
Against wind’s mild but constant blow.
Part accomplishment in all its tasks, this.
A secret place for leaf’s deposit is success.
If wind is nil and wasp is well prepared,
A transfer of the leaf succeeds. Should
Wind be wilful, wasp hovers, attempts.
A limit reached. Then leaf drops unconstricted
To the ground. Wasp returns to bush where
Leaves are found of similar dimensions,
Length, width, softly malleable, freshly-flexed.
Clutching succulence, a red-kissed leaf,
Wasp knows by instinct a timed detachment,
Makes a flying transfer from the bush.
Oscillating wasp takes position, persevering.
Makes its ordered life worthwhile.
Patterns in dark emplacements hidden.
Marilyn Peck
You Go To My Head
Black Rose, Red Rose, and a glass of sparking wine.
White Rose, Blue Rose and a quiet place to dine.
Stars in the midnight sky, and it’s double summer time.
The tableware, on a table that’s made of Huon pine;
it’s porcelain. And the silver, the crystal glasses are mine.
They’ve been saved as best, till now, and it’s time
for their usefulness, along with the napery: linen, fine,
starched and very old. Thin fingers holding: it is a sign
that time is running out. Age is not a heinous crime.
Mention lyrics of: You Go To My Head, there’s a rhyme
that haunts me still. Burgundy Blues singers, a dime
a dozen Billie Holidays in their way of keeping time.
And the music’s made for dancing, close-held pivots,
to tunes from half last century: in my brain like rivets.
Marilyn Peck
Madam: Archbishop Fisher (July-August 2024) does not resist the attacks on his church by the political, social or scientific atheists and those who insist on not being told what to do.
Aug 29 2024
6 mins
To claim Aborigines have the world's oldest continuous culture is to misunderstand the meaning of culture, which continuously changes over time and location. For a culture not to change over time would be a reproach and certainly not a cause for celebration, for it would indicate that there had been no capacity to adapt. Clearly this has not been the case
Aug 20 2024
23 mins
A friend and longtime supporter of Quadrant, Clive James sent us a poem in 2010, which we published in our December issue. Like the Taronga Park Aquarium he recalls in its 'mocked-up sandstone cave' it's not to be forgotten
Aug 16 2024
2 mins