Four poems by Jamie Dawe
My Father
A Geelong AFL supporter
Saturdays were reserved for shouting at the Eighties Rank Arena
The juvenile meerkat elations awaiting at 30 Cumming Street Toowoomba
I received many accolades for school projects under his tutelage
His affection with mum and his affinity with the African Lovebirds, Finches and Budgerigars
Ironically, I, at fifty four, communicating with the random magpie or sparrow I recognize how they create mindfulness caged in this orb as we all are
Under the house a business- Dawe Constructions and letters in his makeshift mailbox for chores
Building fences and chopping the firewood delivered from the World War Two Blitz tipper
The Tartan bed spread with Matchbox cars
Stove bricks wrapped up in newspaper under brumal blankets he ceremoniously supplied
His frustration with water boatmen swimming in the above ground pool
As a teenager he stared to the moon believing there was more
Yes. The world is not perfect but within closed Dawes he strived
We tend to cast aspersions on the deficit of what we believe we deserve regardless of the five gifts of senses available
On the Sabbath the regular family unit hie, we showed respect to ancestors
The latticed sepulchre bus shelter was full of visitors and we read the stones of epochal loss
Manicuring lawn plaques with paint and brushes to restore their names
Maybe by subconscious means, he was telling us to take the worlds’ tiger by the tail and tame it
Poetry readings in the formal dining area with famous author evenings
The dictionary and Thesaurus an arm’s length away
Encouraging us to seek cathartic pursuits in literature
A book- the key to prismatic ideations, speaking volumes
Under the same alien moonlight haze of preponderance
Sanguine sentiments that both of my parents and I will be reunited in a distant stratosphere
Charred
After the yellow fire resistant hoses have departed
She sieves through the ironbark ash to retrieve the melted candelabra
The black and white portrait mementos
Charcoaled star pickets in molten wounded angles
He dodders up hesitantly to his fallen castle with red cattle dog
The amputated John Deere is enough for him
Hodge podge kiln pies of misgivings
Tall matchsticks map the unreliable traffic light weather
Zephyr smokie grey boots and gumnuts pop the question
Should we rebuild in the funeral urn of memories or just lay them to dust?
The Lion Roar is No more
In 1948 in an auspiciously named area after our reigning Majesty
The first automobile cub in South Australia was assembled from saddled sand dune to seatbelt
Wheeled runways American Eagle subsidiary patriotism
Antoine Cadillac eponymous inspirations the Lion