No Going Back
out
In the slap-face cold of abandoned farms
Tall grasses starched white in the torch beam’s track
Small stones chatter on the narrow dirt path
Somewhere an owl gloats:There’s no going back.
Youth’s eaten up, he preaches from his oak
As if I’m prey in the rip of his fear.
That’s fine and well, I hiss back to the black
So much of that youth went down with the beer!
Your power, too—picture his blink, so “wise”—
Push-and-shoving at the wield of a pen.
Ha! At a price you well know—sleepless nights
I’d wear no stripes back in office again.
What about love?, probes haughty old Flatface
There’s no repairing the damage done there.
That’s true and painful (I trip on the path)
One gets as good as one gives, I declare.
Your young have long fledged, what need of you now?
No second chances to rear with more skill.
Ah, there’s so much I would do otherwise
They’ve flown, or fallen. They talk to me still.
Midnight calls, owls have better mice to fry
White noise underfoot, return through black trees
There’s wine in the jar, dry wood in the stove
Half a night left to go back as I please.
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