Jason Beale: ‘A Colonial Poet’, ‘Glory Bush’ and ‘Bacchus’

A Colonial Poet

The flowers over my mother’s grave
have blown and fallen on the ground;
the sky above the cemetery gates
is colder than a catacomb.

We walk the hill to a broken column
crowned with a marble laurel wreath,
over a plaque now etched with mould,
where Adam Lindsay Gordon sleeps.

Gloucestershire-born colonial poet,
daring horseman, trooper, drover,
politician, speculator and
famous Australian bush balladeer;

at thirty-six—financially ruined—
he shot himself on Brighton Beach.
Now wattle trees embrace his rest
with a whispering halo of leaves.

Jason Beale

Glory Bush

The blossoms of
the Glory Bush,
a decadent pinkish
purple shade, are
something strange
in Melbourne yards.

I take some from
a neighbour’s fence,
seductive South
American blooms,
and splay them on
my kitchen bench—

a little touch
of Carnaval.

Jason Beale

Bacchus

As salty sunlight
splashes down,

like a dog I dig,
like a spider
bind—

the dirt
is buried
in my skin,

my vines bear
secrets…