We Pass…

A Sequence of Experimental Poetry

Noël Tointon

2011

Without a beginning, without title…

Upon the fragrant grass as dry as hay
Would watch the fiery skies 
Celebrating the New Year…

Our knees just touching
As we sat cross-legged
Sharing a midnight picnic…

Upon this hill it began and ended,
So romantic the scene…
An old digger who found no golden touch…. (1)

The day is bright,
And promise full,
A heated haze
Unrelenting…. (2)

Two enamoured butterflies 
Entwine, entwirl in dance,
Embrace an absent breeze
Before belated rain…. (3)

Such bewitching eyes,
That I should see deep inside,
Without a fearfulness
Of being caught,
Backwards and forwards
We each would drink this view,
The difference in age
Did not seem to matter…
Shook hands on parting,
A lingered grasp…
Without courage let you part…
As if a gilded ghost
Could glide on past
Untouched by love…. (4)

The old creaking pine
Has stopped talking to his friend…
The long, absent wind…. (5)

Two more enamoured butterflies 
Enter a dance of four,
Two pairs embrace a trace of breeze
Melting in the downward draughts of rain…. (6)

Know what you think,
And think you know 
What might be said
If time was had
To speak our thoughts,
Trace timid shapes
Upon the air…
And sound those things
That have no need… 
Need not be said…
Find mere consent…. (7)

We pass… as fleeting as a Summer’s butterfly,
All seasons had in the space of a few days…
Springing forth, showered by sun,
Falling in love… dropping from the busy leaf…
Our deaths dissolved in Winter’s rain…
And sealed in frozen snow…. (8)

Imported weeds
Run down the hill,
Like urban streets
That infiltrate
A busy park…. (9)

Day by day recite your holy name,
Call to mind your sacred image
Upon this numb and feeble brain…
But find the gilded gods 
Can no more fly this way…
Feel repeated hopes 
No longer fill…
An empty frame…! (10)

Find it sad that streets begin and end…

Meeting a vacant lot…

Or ancient brick wall
With time’s graffiti worn away…

Dissolving into a fine line
Between the fallow fields…

Merging with an angry highway
Speeding to nowhere soon…

Stopping before the storm swept
Sweep of untidy beach…

Losing itself in bends
Above the crumbling cliffs…

Quite sad that things must come and go…

That this fact alone… persists…. (11)

All things too good
Find truth spelt out
In absent fact…. (12)

So lean on beach, 
With mean, manly smile,
Meant well, am sure…
For camera held
By someone else…. (13)

The seater motor biker lad
Juggled coffee and a smoke
With mobile in other hand,
Perplexed with life’s demands…. (14)

Perceive a world with different trees,
A legend land on edge
Refracting fashion’s fads…

To brash and breezy Perth now sail;
Wild western ways of life…
A dessert sun set large
In crystal glass burnt blue.
In ignorance of dust,
Beneath the midday trees,
Few natives find the coolest spot
To sit in circles spent,
An evening’s dozen lit 
By sudden dusk.
From hearsay know
Have missed the muddy pit,
For lesbians westling in the pub…
An act would think passé…
But, in thoughtful musing, miss 
Those sweet young guys
Behind art-shop counters
Who greet myself as “sir”
With a country-shy, 
Nervous look of recognition…
Spoke in wordless breath…
In… inhalation… 

Forget short-sighted, older folk
Unnerve those younger shoots
Half-seeking home in foreign soil…. (15)

Between the rain
Saw Brisbane’s sun
Hemmed in by banks
Built up on silt…. (16)

With wordless ways we sat
To eat a simple meal,
Our saying grace 
By being there…. (17)

We pass… we pass…
We pass once more… with fleeting smile…. (18)
In Townsville found 
An empty town.
As lovers once 
We walked these streets.
Not much has changed.
Perhaps with night,
Without the heat,
It comes to life?
A time to dance
And nervous glance…
To seek the same
And fleeting muse
On time well spent…? (19)

The North punches above its weight,
Slow intuit that money speaks…!

In Darwin town
Found time rebuilt.

In Broome a flood
Of folk on sand
Bled red through sweat…

One lore of land…
Same theme, same frown,
It’s work, hard work
To make, to take
This soil as mine…! (20)

Too damn polite
To swear an oath
In public here,
With salt in eyes,
And thirsty too,
To dust and flies
I wish you well,
Am passing through,
Just passing through
With silent tune 
Held fast upon
My lipstick lips,
A drinking song
No more, no less…! (21)