Poetry

Elisabeth Wentworth: Flight of the Minstrels

Flight of the Minstrels Dromana, January 2015   The old house could only achieve more view If it learned to swivel on its beach-shack pins. Full North, with East and West to spare—Amalfi? Surpassed. We have lorikeets, wagtails, silky oak.   The cranky deck bounces high on its props Due for a rebuild it holds us for now But the flaky timbers are rotting fast, It might decide to up stumps any second   Taking us with it into the Bay. We don’t care. We are midnight minstrels on a cliff top stage Keeping the beat as the lightning dances…

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