Ludwig’s
Riff
Unlike
my desk or room and bookcases
the
garage is a mess that hides things.
The
extra set of screw drivers
handles
eaten by rats. That ball of twine,
now I
have a baker’s dozen.
I never
left the fencing pliers by the one inch
joiners
in that box. Surely something else,
an
incantation a spatial anomaly lingers.
Like the
feeling when a song comes back
from
where ever it’s been. Sound waves
catch in
skin unaware with ankles tuning
in the
foreshore. Played while doing the dishes,
out they
go. Circling like birds of prey,
waiting
for the side way look. Distraction
lets
them in again, humming, mouthing words
lost
until they re-admit themselves.
Though
Beethoven’s hearing left before him
Moonlight
Sonata roams the stars,
arcs of
never received light race ahead of chatter
mixed
with all the transmissions, the spilled tea
of radio
plays, Lear in defiant wandering.
Somewhere
a comet streak meanders over chords,
an
intersect of time and space reconciled
by the
first alert of introductory notes.
- James Walton 2016
James Walton lives in the Strzelecki Mountains in South
Gippsland, Australia. He has been published in The Age and Sydney Morning
Herald newspapers, and many journals and anthologies. He has been short listed
twice for the ACU national Literature Prize, is a double prize winner in the
MPU International Poetry Prize, and Specially Commended in The Welsh Poetry
Competition. His collection ‘The
Leviathan’s Apprentice’ is available. He’s been a Librarian, bred Salers cattle,
and was a public sector union official for many years.
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