Monday, January 1, 2018

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


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