Edith Speers: Two Poems

i hate poems about poetry

some poets get to be carpenters

building houses of verse

well-structured and weather-tight

council-approved to lock-up stage

almost ready for occupancy

some poets get to be joiners

crafting cabinets or boxes

with perfect dovetail joints

buffed to a sheen from fine timbers

waiting to hold treasures

some poets get to be tailors

stitching sturdy fabrics into suits

or couturiers with swathes of elegance

bedizened with beads and sequins

for people to parade around in

all i wanted to be was a gardener

maybe of native flora needing no help

or maybe nurturing a few tasty fruits and vegies

or maybe encouraging some blooms into being

for people and bees and birds to visit

but instead i get animal husbandry

with beasts that breed promiscuously

breach the fences

drive the neighbours hysterical

and then go feral

visitors

owl on the fence post

heron on the gate

hawk on the rooftop

not really an owl

but a tawny frogmouth

seen in the dark before dawn

a heron alright

although we call them blue cranes

never seen in the yard before

not any old hawk but a white one

as rare as a miracle

a blessing on the house

an eagle in the air

so massive we thought a cloud

had blocked the sun

and all the others too

wrens and robins and fantails

cockatoos and ravens and rosellas

they make us stop for just long enough

to feel like visitors

in somebody else’s house

Edith Speers