Topic Tags:
0 Comments

Drowning

Rod Moran

Aug 31 2010

0 mins

 (In memoriam, G.W.)

He waded shadows,

The compass of a night

Lacking stars and moon.

He yearned for the fathoms

Of pure nothingness,

The calm of oblivion.

Imperatives moved him, Magnetic as water,

Urgent as breath,

The flotsam of motive

Unfurling, coldly,

Tides of intention:

Gave up his store

Of secret pain,

Lucid as thought.

Gulls, debris, wind.

Complex hauntings,

The water gently luminous.

Comments

Join the Conversation

Already a member?

What to read next

  • Letters: Authentic Art and the Disgrace of Wilgie Mia

    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

  • Aboriginal Culture is Young, Not Ancient

    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

  • Pennies for the Shark

    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