PHILIP DODD

PHILIP DODD

AFTER YOUR SHOWER

Elizabeth Barret Browning,

I smiled to see,

after you'd had your shower,

your dark hair on your shoulder,

you looked like her to me.

From one poet to another,

as I stand under your tower,

may my comparison

be like the gift of a flower.

Let Me Count The Ways,

Sonnets From The Portuguese,

wrote Elizabeth Barret Browning.

You looked like her after your shower,

to her verse you held the keys.

In solitude and silence,

we hone our craft.

Time stretches and gets slower,

in spirit we are not older,

remember how we laughed.

Your dark eyes tell me of the east,

and help me to be a rower

of my boat to your shore,

pour you wine as your grape grower.

Elizabeth Barret Browning,

I smiled to see,

after you'd had your shower,

your dark hair on your shoulder,

you looked like her to me.

MATTHEW FLINDERS

Matthew Flinders stands as a statue

in the market square

in Donington, a village somewhere

in Lincolnshire.

Looks fine in his naval uniform,

seems proud to be him,

with his telescope and cabin cat

that he called Trim.

You may not have heard of his name before.

I had not, either.

Now I know he was the first explorer

to circumnavigate Australia.

He wanted his wife to sail away with him.

Was told she could not by the Admiralty.

They said, no, Matthew Flinders,

that is forbidden by the laws of the sea.

Nine years she waited for his return,

heard the sea gulls cry,

until she watched his ship drop anchor,

its beauty hurt her eye.

Voyage out like Matthew Flinders,

navigate your path with map, compass and telescope,

not knowing where the tides will take you,

still master of your skills with sail and rope.

Here's to the health of Matthew Flinders

who sailed far south to find new land.

Until the voyage is over,

may you do more than you first planned.

WHEN THINGS TURN OUT FINE

The celebrated turned up late.

They shone on everyone,

and left not too early

but the party seemed over

after they'd gone.

There are crumbs on the plate,

wine stains on the cloth.

what remains is meant

for the mouse and the moth.

We still have our table.

The music plays on,

and the moon shines clearly.

The party is not over

until we're gone.

There's strength in the strings,

light in the line,

grace in the wings

when things turn out fine.

Somewhere water flows

over stones in the wild,

and in dreams an old man

wakes as a child.

PHILIP DODD