The summer day
The winter day
|Poetry Home Page|
|Economical, and deceptively simple.|
The old men, smoking on their porches,
High-strung clouds are wracked
awaiting the instrumental moon.
The old men who frame this poem have always fascinated me - especially now I've a couple of arrogant boys of my own. It is a very different take from Fairburn's "...wave, that holds the summer in its green concave", but I have always loved the sea and beach poems which New Zealanders seem to write so magically.