by Michael Brett | Mar 27, 2011 | Poetry
Tomorrow, the Lord of Life and Death Will again be keeper of the public latrines, But today, with stone eyes and a stone hand, I salute him. I knew him before he was powerful. I put money in his pockets and food in his mouth. For him, I ordered the dead to canvas the...
by Michael Brett | Mar 25, 2011 | Poetry
As the searchlights bandaged its dying air, My mind burned with my city. I watched my people wandering through colonnades Of smoke, searching for the lost Or for new countries. The frontiers of my life have turned to fissures: Beneath the elegant aircraft, like...
by Michael Brett | Mar 25, 2011 | Poetry
Every family has its secrets: He had been flying beside us all our lives: At Christmas, birthdays-was an unknown guest at weddings- Present even at games of football beside the pond; Seated gazing up through the mossy Perspex And farm pond frogs, forever, With three...
by Michael Brett | Mar 25, 2011 | Poetry
After the first attack,Both our language and our music were beyond repair. The UN and NGOs workmen are doing their best, tidying up. Their wrecking balls and pickaxes break up our metaphors and similes. Look. In ostrich plumes of dust, poems fall, crashing like...
by Michael Brett | Mar 25, 2011 | Poetry
I was killed then my grave was lost. Once a gypsy read my palm and said I’d own a vast estate. Here it is. I’d have no money worries. That bit was right. My life was dragged in a blanket to this grave By some friends-in a delirium of blood- It was night...
