troubadors

troubadors
to John Lennon, Bob Dylan & Leonard Cohen

when John was
shot down
by a fool
in New York
i knew
this world
makes no sense
the pain of love
the pain of pain
in his voice
love won
only a
cold point
through the
back

when the universe
takes Bob back
his voice
from the bottom
of mankind
coming up
through
his voice now
as old as
he strove to
sound young
Continue reading “troubadors”

citrus thief

citrus thief
on a faked report of a ‘citrus thief’ in the district

when you sleep
he wakes again
boozed out all day
on sea and clouds
lying warm as a
bumblebee in the
sun down in a
public reserve on
the shore
when you sleep
he wakes to
cross your lawn
risking the guns
of the righteous
he’s a blaggard
and a cad
he’s a lemon
thief

your lemons are
doing well, sir,
your mandarins
wrapped in netting,
madam, must be a
joy to the weary
palette just beware
they say the man
with ripped
tennis shoes
who coats himself
in streetlight and
paper-thin tiptoes
across the grass even
the cat won’t prick
up an ear though he’s
in their very eye
he risks the guns
of the righteous
he’s a blaggard
and a cad
he’s a citrus
thief

fruit on the tree
he says is fruit
for man woman
and child no fence
around eden he
claims and was
eve’s apple ever so
sweet as the fruit
he gathers sour?
there’s plenty
for all he swears
just let him
risk the guns
of the righteous,
call him a blaggard
and a cad he’s a
lemon thief

stay thy righteous
hand, neighbour, lower
thy double barrel
touch not the phone
to call the swift boys
in bulky blue
in a barbed paradise
of private property
he’s lightening a
branch honouring the
bee-fumbled pollen
you’d first let that fruit
fall there and rot
give him his due
let the citrus man
who wets his cuffs
on your lawn go
on his way with
heavy pockets

howick
2014

Copyright ©2014 Peter Le Baige.  All Rights Reserved

in shock

in shock
to the memory of my mother

I.
you died .
as ever
the waves
came in
in sleep
that volcanic
hill above
the shore
wore morning
sun in the
wet on the
one flank
nothing changed
yet all of
sight whatever
the senses
brought had
shifted
somewhere a
mountain fallen
and you knew it
a range had
lost a mountain
the ocean
short a wave.

II.
the sewing
machine hand
or treadle
turned i’d
watch you
pushing through
the cloth
before the wide
Continue reading “in shock”

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