Setu 🌉 सेतु: Adrian Rogers

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Poetry book review: ARCHETYPES OF DOUBT

ARCHETYPES OF DOUBT
by Robert Maddox-Harle

Publisher: ‎Cyberwit.net
Publication date: ‎June 30 2025
Language: English
Print length: 73 pages
ISBN-13: 978-9363546882

Reviewed by Adrian Rogers

Poets have not always been popular, especially if they speak truth to power. It is said that one Chinese Emperor banished poets from his court. Times have indeed changed; nowadays we simply ignore them. However, for those who do read poetry, there is no ignoring Robert Maddox-Harle’s ARCHETYPES OF DOUBT. Don’t be misled by its categorization as ‘free verse’. There is an iron discipline here, and an absolute command of language. In fact, you could say that the words—quite often almost jump out at you. The first verse of the opening poem being, in fact, an ‘archetype’ of things to come…

“In the remote village of raw emotions

seduced by the tyranny of time

wheeling photons mesmerize the unwary,

Shamanic visions invade the mind

mysterious unknowable forces

expose archetypes from the Prima Materia

delving deep into chthonian realms…”

Adrian Rogers

But this poet is also capable of moving quickly from the disturbing to the gentle and devotional, as in the closing verse of Barranghatti Hut…

“A Black Raven sings to me from the shade

and a Praying Mantis is praying atop a fire-burnt log,

I am praying also

praying for this sacred land.”

Then in Tipping Point, the poet introduces a mystical element…

“Song lines and Singing Bowls harmonize
and the Shaman dances,

soon the ecstatic awareness of no-thing-ness

will seek refuge at the Tipping Point

the Still Point will spin in rapture

and the eternal dance accelerate once more.”

And all this just in the first three poems; truly not a poet to be taken for granted. And if you’re looking for political comment, how about this, from A Silent Poem…?

“…we have new laws of “Silencing”

“Free Speech” in protest now condemned

across this state of New South Wales,

when will these dictators ever end?”

But after pain and suffering, surely there has to be a healing…?

“…Her tears fill the waterholes

billimari-billimari,

reinvigorating the dying earth

washing away the senseless killing,

years of European dominance…”

and music plays its part, for is not music the poetry of sound?

This, from The Perfect Fifth is another way of making the point…

“…graceful melodic breezes surrounded me

mauve with tints of orange,

energies dancing in harmony

gently massaged my spirit…”

Do I detect a hint of synesthesia here? If that’s so, I share it, and thus it goes on, with challenge in Sustainability or Extinction, and that inexorably truthful statement in Grandma’s Fruitcake…

“…There is no ‘stairway to heaven’,

is no—‘telephone to glory’,

only a shimmering ladder to the stars

a ladder for all to climb…”

Do I detect here an element of Ancient Egypt, perhaps? But there is no compromising with ‘truth’ for this poet, and—unlike Pontius Pilate, no doubts either about ‘truth’s inescapable reality’. But any poet offering a whole collection must lighten up somewhere. One cannot be relentlessly inquisitorial all the time, or readers will simply switch off. So, in Dumparee—a very sub-standard motel, we get…

“…Torn carpet, soggy under the bench

a broken fridge with a putrid stench.

Think I might have caught covid hepatitis or lice

No, really this motel was not very nice…”

Well, we’ve all been there at some time, and so it goes on. Then Doors of Perception makes me wonder if the poet’s been reading Aldous Huxley…

“…The secret language of colour shouts

‘Behold the Key to the Evolution of this World

Beware the deception of the Triad’…”

The poet casts a wide net, from transcendence to humour, protest, the music of Arvo Pärt—also a favourite of mine, the Rainbow Serpent, darkness, light, and do I detect an element of Salvador Dali in…A Promise?

But at the very end—original to the last, what the poet calls…The Last Manifesto of an Ageing, Cynical Artist, in…

No Fish Again!

“i went fishing today….

for the last time!

illusions drifted away

purged by the howling southerly,

no fish again!”

…and on that final page, with a nod to Leonard Cohen, the poet concludes…

“…No explanations,

No reasons,

No philosophy,

No art-speak stun-gun hype,

MysteriumTremendum et Fascinans

is all there is!”

I hope that Archetypes of Doubt is not Maddox-Harle’s last publication. I would not for a moment claim that societies want to hear what he has to say, but they certainly need to hear it…!

BIO: Adrian Rogers was born and educated in England, moving to Ireland in 1969 to teach Music and English - both north and south of the border. In 1978 with his wife he moved to the Shetland Islands, in 1985 to Australia, and in 1992 to Papua New Guinea - teaching at the Internationl School in Lae. In 1993 he returned to Australia, where he taught music privately until retiring in 2005.

He now focuses on writing stories, and above all poetry as the music of words. He has four fantasy novels published in Canada, two in Queensland, and numerous poetry collections published in Adelaide by Ginninderra Press. He has contributed poetry, essays and short stories, to many Australian periodicals, and also as contributions to anthologies. His work is influenced by his surroundings, beliefs, relationships, and life experiences. As for its style, he prefers to let the poetry speak for itself.

Setu, August 2025

NEW TITLES: Is life a Climb, or a Voyage?

“Is life a Climb, or a Voyage?”

by Adrian Rogers

cyberwit.net India 2025

(Available from Amazon in your country or www.cyberwit.net)

Pleased to announce the recent publication of Adrian Rogers’ brilliant new book of

poems, “Is Life a Climb, or a Voyage?” published by cyberwit.

The book explores “life’s journey” in forty five poems. Firstly, climbing Croagh Patrick, Ireland’s sacred mountain, then in part 2 “life’s journey” is viewed as a long sea voyage through storm and calm, from now to “Beyond the Barrier”.

The spiritual and mystical elements in this collection are amazing and uplifting, a real contrast or counterpoint to the horrors of our present global negativity.

Setu, August 2025

SCRATCHES AND DEEPER WOUNDS

SCRATCHES AND DEEPER WOUNDS

by Rob Harle

First published - Spinning Spider Publications, 1996

Second edition – Cyberwit, 2023. ISBN: 978-81-19228-50-8. INR 200

Reviewed by Adrian Rogers-Gawler

Lest we be tempted to think that writing in a free-verse style is easier than rhymed verse, this reviewer is assured---from perusing Rob Harle’s ‘Scratches and Deeper Wounds’, that it is not. Rhyming may impose restrictions, but it also offers support, for instance as a way of keeping a poem going when the imagination is beginning to run short of ideas.

However, Rob Harle--in this collection displays no shortage of both ideas, often quite searing images, and, as one will observe from the following quotation, his free verse never reads or sounds like chopped up prose...

“The uniformed and drugged misfits

go floating onwards, past

and egos, grossly over size

strut the dirty street

stoned beyond courtesy’s convention

with paranoia etched deeply

into empty faces, void.

And then pure love flows by...”

and that is on just the first page.

On page 9 the title ‘Chthonian Vaults’ reminded me--rightly or wrongly, of H.P. Lovecraft in its opening lines...

“Androgyny rises swollen and ripe

tempting, it caresses your mind easily

like the taste of melting chocolate...”

These vivid, if somewhat lurid lines do little to disperse my initial impression of Lovecraft’s influence. And as for the ‘Genetic Engineer--the Man who would be

God’, Rob sums up the truth of what genetic engineering really is---in relation to human beings, quite mercilessly...

“...his mission to map the human genotype

to store on-ff on-off on-off

in a dark digital compression creche,

the secrets of all life...”

So, it goes on, with masks, the transitory, philosophic imagery, the computer chip, God’s new mask, the Philosopher’s Stone, and that is only scratching the surface. To read through the collection though takes one far beyond the surface, to where Scratches--to quote the title, become much deeper wounds.

There is, as we know a time and a place for lighter verse, romance, and simple, joyful depictions of all that is beautiful in our world, but---more than ever today we need poets who will recall us to the harder truths, exposing those mechanistic, soulless behaviours so often advocated and exemplified by those who should know better, and whose motives must therefore be suspect.

Finally, I will quote a few lines from ‘The Ultimate Metaphor’, which relate to whaling...

“The obscenity of life and death

is celebrated in the House of Slaughter

offal transmutes to cheese and crackers

wine splashes like urine, cheaply

against the cool room walls...”

One suspects that---as a poet, Rob Harle would not have lasted long in the Middle Ages, though one is also tempted to ask...are we really so much more enlightened today? Perhaps it’s the Poet’s task to answer that question.

Setu, October 2023

TALKING WITH AUSTRALIAN POETS

Robert Maddox-Harle

This month Robert Maddox-Harle talks to Adrian Rogers

Adrian Rogers, a retired music teacher, has numerous published books of poetry, six novels, and his poetry is widely anthologised both in Australia and overseas, in books, journals and online. His work is influenced by his surroundings, beliefs, relationships, and life experience. The following interview with Adrian was conducted via email by fellow poet and reviewer Robert Maddox-Harle.

Adrian Rogers

Welcome Adrian, thanks for agreeing to talk about your poetry with me for our Setu readers. You are now retired from formally teaching music, do you think cadence and musicality are important in free-verse style poetry?

Absolutely... If you are going to write free verse loosely structured, cadence and musicality are vital. If rhyme is not used then these qualities, I think are what gives one’s verse impact, especially when read aloud.

You have quite a number of published collections of poetry now, recently you have created collections on specific themes such as your Pamir and The Navigator and the Explorer books. Whilst each poem “stands-alone” as a poem in its own right the whole adds up to more meaningful experience for the reader. Do you think this is correct, and have you plans for future such “themed” collections?

Yes, I do. I agree, I tend to write a collection of poems set around a particular theme, and I think the reason for this relates to my career experience as a musician, in particular to the song cycle, and my experience in accompanying singers.

Your poetry for me has many covert mystical connotations, is this correct and could you let us know how important mystical/spiritual realms are to your poetry and for poetry generally?

Yes, it is, and I make no apology for that. Mystical and spiritual realms are important, both to me personally, and on account of my beliefs and life experience.

Moreover, I think they can add the ultimate dimension to poetry, and I venture to suggest that the greatest poets have all shown something of this spiritual impulse.

Do you care about the opinions of so-called literary critics, or do you “do your own thing” and simply ignore these fashion/fad opinionated academics?

I can care about the opinions of critics, if, and only if those particular critics demonstrate an understanding of the spiritual dimension in human experience.

Further to this above question: I believe Australia is a culturally challenged country, the overall treatment and acceptance of the majority of poets in Australia is nothing less than disgusting, one or two accidentally fall into the spotlight, the rest are persona non grata. Poets, of your calibre should be acknowledged as living treasures and honoured accordingly, as they are in many other cultures. Do you have any views on this, or have I got it wrong?

No, I think you are absolutely right. Unfortunately, this culturally challenged state is not limited to Australia, though it seems depressingly obvious in this country. The trouble is, I’m not sure what can be done to rectify it, in the present constant crisis management state in which the world seems to find itself.

Q
Poetry doesn’t pay the rent, as one wit said, “there is no money in poetry, but there is also no poetry in money”, however paradoxically there seems to be an increase in poetry publications in recent years, not only via the ubiquitous internet but in books and journals. Your take on this phenomenon?

I agree, and I too have noticed this phenomenon, both on the Internet, and in books coming out in print and e-book formats. What I look forward to is the day when governments--both state and federal take the trouble to notice this, and actually do something about it.

Why do you write poetry rather than say, songs or compose music?

I used to write music. As a matter of fact, I have a Trinity College of Music Fellowship in musical composition. However, in this--the latter part of my life I have found that writing poetry has given me a voice in a more personal way than any other artistic activity.

I wrote in a review of your poetry, “He is a master poet. His poems do not articulate engineer’s logic, they are not like assembled tabloid headlines, he invents new words and modifies existing ones to suit his purpose, they epitomise the true nature of poetry – to create magic through words.” Do you agree with this assessment and care to comment?

I do agree with this assessment, and will take the opportunity here and now to say how much I have appreciated both your reviews, and your encouragement, for which I thank you. I also agree that your assessment of the true nature of poetry is both right, and that it could ultimately elevate the everyday to higher levels of reality, if given the opportunity to do so.

In addition to your poetry publications, you also have four fantasy novels and two further novels. Do you still write novels or prefer to concentrate on poetry only now?

I prefer now to concentrate on poetry, to perfect that as an art form, rather than trying to be both a poet, and a fiction writer at the same time.

Poetry is a somewhat esoteric exalted art. Does it deserve this lofty status in this age of mass communication, and dumbing down of the general population?

Personally, I think that in this sadly dumbed-down age it is more important than ever. I think poetry deserves its exalted status, but at the same time perhaps we should try to find ways to make its communication possible to a wider readership.

Sunil Sharma asked me once in an interview the following question, I will now ask you the same question. “Can great art afford us escape routes to different realities or higher realms? Can it enable us as readers/writers in creating parallel worlds?”

Yes, I believe very strongly that it can. We all need an escape route to different realities and higher worlds. Perhaps the challenge is, to enable people to understand their own needs in this area of experience.

Who are your favourite poets, perhaps those who have influenced and inspired you over the years?

Okay, here goes. I am not going to just trot out the expected names by the way. So, my favourites are...George Herbert, Henry Vaughan, John Keats, Tennyson, Gerard Manley Hopkins, T.S. Eliot, Dylan Thomas, W.B. Yeats, John Masefield. My intention though, is not to imitate, but to learn from them, in addition to appreciating the spiritual impulses that drove them.

Do you think getting older has resulted in you writing better poetry than when you we younger, many artists/poets as they age just rehash the “same-as same-as”, you keep inventing new worlds and writing new riveting poetry, your opinions on this phenomenon please?

I agree, and I think my poetry has indeed improved with age, like the composer Stravinsky--to give one example. I will never be content to just re-hash the past, I can promise you that. Stravinsky is a good example in this regard. He made his name with ballets such as Firebird, Petruska, Rite of Spring, and so on. At the same time, he realized that one cannot go on forever repeating the same formula, so after World War 1, he adapted his style, in the light of a different age.

I conceived of, and edited a volume of poetry a few years ago, Voices Across Generations, this was inspired by the concept of “ink in our DNA”, do you have ancestors who wrote poetry or novels? Do you know where your desire and need to write and publish poetry come from?

No, I do not know of any ancestors who wrote poetry or music. However, my father was a brilliant watercolour painter, and a wizard at drawing, in addition to appreciating all the other arts. Unfortunately, he endured a difficult childhood, and never got the opportunity to develop his skills in any of the arts. He did, however, encourage his children to develop their own artistic potential...up to a point, depending on his personal understanding of these things. Of course, as you understand, I do what I do because I must. For me, it is an imperative.

Any advice to younger or emerging poets, especially on gaining self-confidence, finding publishers, dealing with rejection notices, and finding their true place in this esoteric/dangerous business of writing poetry?

Yes, and don’t let the rejection slips stop you. These are standard fare for all of us, and no one escapes them. So, I suggest starting by getting your work into magazines and periodicals at the local level, to gain the kind of experience that will enable you to--so to speak, reach for the skies.

Rob Harle: Thanks for your time, Adrian, and the best of luck with your future work!

Setu, August 2023

THE BLAZING FURNACE—A REFLECTION

Review by Adrian Rogers

The Blazing Furnace

An eclectic collection of experimental poems with images

by Robert Maddox Harle.

2022, Cyberwit.net, India. pp. 110 illust.

ISBN: 978-93-90601-57-8

Reading through Rob’s brilliant and diverse collection, my first response is to be impressed byhis apparent determination to question; to ask what is the purpose and function of poetry in the 21^st century, that is - what does it mean to be a poet in a supposedly civilized, western-type society?

This may not initially be apparent, after all the opening poem, ‘Sand Dunes at Dusk’, has a distinctly onomatopoeic quality.

Incessant screeching of gleaming white gulls

competing with the waves crashing-swirling-whooshing

create a counterpoint cacophony

ever rising, surging, silvering…

But there is more to Rob’s poetry than colourful imagery…

Here rests the enlightened heart

beating time in endless harmony

amidst the turning and swirling,

in this transient glimpse of absurdity…

and we’ve only reached the second poem.

But it is surely the mark of a good poet to stand for something, after all Milton did, in Paradise Lost, and in that lovely lament Lycidas; his stance at least semi-political in Paradise Lost, and anti-clerical in Lycidas, wherein his mourning for a friend lost at sea veils a not-so-subtle attack on the Church of England.

Rob, as a 21^st century poet takes an anti-colonial stance for instance, in his tribute to Gandhi entitled ‘Travelling Light’.

Defying the overlords of authority

the power brokers of control,

through nonviolent civil resistance

he lit a light eternal…

The poet gives the word ‘light’ a double meaning here, both in the sense of travelling with little baggage, but also of symbolically lighting the flame of knowledge and potential enlightenment.By now the reader will have realized that this collection is not

meant to be merely entertaining, intriguing, or deliberatelytechnically clever. ‘Closing the Circle’, for instance is spiritually and intellectually demanding.

Only mysticism can know the arcane truth

the Euroboros symbol—ancient, ubiquitous

explains the “closing circle”,

Alchemists the keepers of this shrouded secret,

their Blazing Furnace manifests—The Stone…

The reader who is still with the poet on this search for enlightenment will not now be surprised when difficult issues are confronted head-on. There is a time to be allusive and subtle, and a time—so to speak when one needs to call a spade a spade and trust readers to be equally honest within themselves, as in ‘Drink the Blood’.

The PAEDOPHILES enter 1 x 1

scourges of a disintegrating edifice of evil.

Drink the blood, eat the bread!

destroy young lives through fear,

behind the Mea Culpa lattice foil…

When I was a boy there were still a few countries in the world where one would have been censored, or even prosecuted for writing with such ruthless honesty, fortunately no longer – I hope. After that it is almost a relief to read Stockhausen’s Attack, but perhaps not be surprised by the Poet’s interest in avant-garde music.

The music drew me out of the darkness

out of the dark labyrinthine tunnel,

mesmerising colours and notes surround me

engulfing me totally,

changing, augmentation, diminution,

transformation, adaptation, substitution…

This collection continues to display its variety, with despair for Lady Luna, and a simple - though perhaps surprising rhyming scheme in ‘Sonnet for the Earth’.

Tread lightly on this green earth so delicate

No place for careless trash and hasty burn,

Every vile pollution and chemical distillate

Poisons little insects whichever way they turn…

Rob Harle is too assured a poet to be afraid of either simplicity or complexity, in the process demonstrating that writing so-called free verse does not reduce the technical challenges involved in making poetic writing effective and powerful. It is good though

to be able to record that ‘Giant Despair’ (to quote John Bunyan), does not have the last word, Philip Glass having inspired this play upon almost tactile imagery…

hypnotic-deep…hypnotic-deep…hypnotic-deep

trance

trance-murmur…trance-murmur…trance-murmur

hush…hush…hush

euphoria…flowing…euphoria

onward…onward…onward

Try reading that aloud and appreciate the enigma overlaying the visuality, and almost tangible quality in Rob’s poetry. To sum up, one suspects that however one responds to the colouristic, arresting, and sometimes disturbing qualities in this collection, one cannot fail to acknowledge that it is the work of a master, one who has the capacity to both inspire and challenge us on every level.

Adrian Rogers

Adrian Rogers: After a lifetime working as a music teacher I now focus on writing stories, and above all poetry as the music of words. I have four fantasy novels published in Canada, two in Queensland, and five poetry collections published in Adelaide by Ginninderra Press, of which the fourth The Medicine Wheel is the latest to be launched. The fifth one Music is a River of Life will be launched at a time yet to be determined. I have contributed poetry, essays and short stories, both to numerous Australian periodicals, and also as contributions to anthologies. My work is influenced by my surroundings, beliefs, relationships, and life experience. As for its style, I prefer to let my work speak for itself.

Setu, November 2022

Pamir by Adrian Rogers

Pamir

by Adrian Rogers

2022. Ginninderra Press, Port Adelaide, Australia

p. 61 ISBN: 978-1-76109-276-3

www.ginninderrapress.com.au

Reviewed by Robert Maddox-Harle, Australia

This slim volume of poems will gladden and caress your heart. In a world full of negativity, deliberately manipulated by the mainstream media, this book is like a refreshing breath of clean, salt sea air. Even though it is a bittersweet story, it is one that seems natural and part of human endeavour.

Robert Maddox-Harle

I have to declare a slight bias in writing this review; firstly, I love Adrian’s poetry, secondly, I also love anything to do with the sea, sailing, and the exquisite vessels that opened up unknown frontiers over the centuries.

Rather than rewrite the description of this poetic story I will quote it in full from the back cover to give the prospective reader a clear idea of what to expect:
“Pamir is the story of a ship, from her building in 1905 to her loss at sea in 1957. She was one of the last of her kind, a celebration of the age of sail, of a seaman’s craft developed over thousands of years, only eventually to steam. Adrian Rogers has told her story as a tribute to all those who kept the world’s trade going through the centuries, at great risk to themselves, and often with very little reward. Their memory deserves to be honoured.”

Adrian Rogers

And indeed it is honoured by this collection of poems which have the dual quality of being wonderful poems each in their own right, and also coming together as a story to immortalise Pamir. The book is arranged into five parts, followed by an Epilogue.

Part 1 – Looking back
Part 2 - In the Morning of My Days
Part 3 – A Prize of War, A Middle-aged Challenger
Part 4 – The Last Great Race, Port Victoria, 1949
Part 5 – Old Age and Apotheosis

As I have mentioned in my previous reviews of Adrian’s poetry, he is a master poet. His poems do not articulate engineer’s logic, they are not like assembled tabloid headlines, he invents new words and modifies existing ones to suit his purpose, they epitomise the true nature of poetry – to create magic through words. As Octavio Paz says’ “No one is a poet unless he [sic] has felt the temptation to destroy language or create another one, unless he [sic] has experienced the fascination of non-meaning and the no less terrifying fascination of meaning that is inexpressible”.

From Launching Pamir (p.16) verse 2:

A bottle swung champagne flood

blossoms along her hull

shipwright’s mauls lifting

and dropping

are a sea-sung, rhythmically

driving pulse edging her over

into wind and water

for the outfitting of a mystery,

masts stepped strong and deep

awakening her

to the beyond of all distances.

Rogers’ has a unique poetic style, it is characterised by a gentle natural cadence, excellent invocation of images, powerful metaphors and phrases which bring palpable ‘life’ to the poem, an example ”a mild North Sea breathing”. Most of all he has the ability to, in a sense, invert the words in a line to give it special and unusual poetic meaning, again as an example; “A bottle swung champagne flood/blossoms along her hull”, we all know what this means concerning the launching of a ship but his way of phrasing it, transforms it from mundane reportage to special poetic enchantment.

Part 4, The Last Great Race, Port Victoria, 1949. The poem Out With the Tide is nothing short of amazing (p. 35).

No gale

sweeps Wardang Island’s half concealed

fang-like razor teeth

and with danger clearing

the shoreline to port diminishes sunwards

a wide gulf to starboard opening out.

Light wave-top dances set to flout

forecast and rumour,

crews hoist sail wings

catching the wind

two ships press forwards ‘bone-in-teeth’

wakes widen creaming to perfection

gulls chorusing

sweeping swooping arcing

round mastheads windward straining

to the challenge.

This poem places us onboard Pamir and helps us experience the thrill and action of the start of the race between Passat and Pamir, anyone who reads this poem sincerely and does not experience the essence of ship and ocean is half-dead and should not be reading poetry.

One minor criticism of this book, the layout in quite a few poems occupies half a page, the bottom section left blank, then continues on the following page, this has the effect of breaking up the continuity of the poem, this is I presume is the publisher’s fault.

The last poem in Part 5, Mid Atlantic Apotheosis – a long and beautiful poem, in a sense, finishes the story, more so than the following Epilogue. The last three verses of this poem are deeply moving and assure Pamir’s place both in maritime history and fine literature.

“They will remember in aftertime my kind,

let no breaker dismember my secrets,

none find or possess

what passes me under sun and cloud

so, raise your glasses

on my launching day

let time have her say then the sea be my shroud!’

‘We remember you, and your lads

unshadowed by age or fireside regrets,

perhaps, after all you did bring them home.’

Setu, April 2022

Adrian Cedric Rogers (Western Voices 2020)

Exclusive: Western Voices, 2020: Edited by Scott Thomas Outlar

Bio: Adrian Cedric Rogers was born September 1940, in Lincoln, England, UK. He was brought up in England, but trained as a teacher in Ireland, teaching music and English in Ireland (North and South), Scotland, England, Australia, and Papua New Guinea. He is an Australian citizen, resident in South Australia where, since retirement in 2005 he has concentrated on writing, with four fantasy novels published by Double Dragon, Ontario, Canada, and two more novels published by Mountain Mist, Queensland, Australia. He now has six poetry collections published by Ginninderra Press, Port Adelaide, South Australia, and contributions—both poetry and articles to numerous journals and anthologies, both in Australia and elsewhere, including ‘Homeward Bound, Searching for the Sublime, an Indo/Australian Anthology of Short Stories’, and in Australia contributing to Beyond the Rainbow, The Write Angle, The Colonial Athens’; in India, Episteme—Bharat College, and many others.

SPRING VOICES

Shadows cave-dark

fire-flicker off rock walls

reflecting mind sets

isolating,

shadowed

into cut-outs of reality

unable to aspire

beyond a blacked out

grope, or mark

a midday sun spark

light greened

up-calling inlet magic

from the Morris, a toned

percussive

dancing, stamping,

consequential as Venus
conned with ungirdled

desire in spring

foam-tidal as the sea

head turning

eyes flashing

in a water-wild world

‘to have or to be’

still life re-forming

unbridled,

twirled earth springing

rondeaux overrunning

contours glowing

swaying hot bodied

until time, reclaiming

tamed memories

passes by...

and aspirations die

dancing, for leftovers

dropped by spring.

***

VOICES OF SEPTEMBER

Septembers of the north

afternoon tinged gold

across landscapes

heather purple

honey-sharp scented

and peat-aged moorlands,

blend into lightness

the soporific humming

of bees

weather-soft sounding

summer’s end into memory,

seen only

in backward glances

outsold

across hemispheres...

time distant

from southern Septembers

light sharpening clarity

paled bright piercing

dispersing

grey-green patterned

eucalyptus shade

outlaid

across time stretched

north/south spaces

and distances

in such a quietness of love

descending

from an afternoon sky

as memory cannot release,

holding through change

the light

the love,

the silent singing

of September.

***

SLEEP

Soft-footed silence

is a licence out of time

themed

playing consciousness

detached,

absented from becoming

obligation

summons

concentration, goal,

reward

for memory stored

in sleep, like a neap tide

turning silently

leaning

into the blanked-out

moment

one step from death

in a silent out-breath

of love at rest

awaiting

dawn’s intercessional

in light’s processional

homing delayed

beyond frontiers of being

knowing and seeing

the grace

of moments intimating

love’s resting place

now... forever.

Setu, April 2020

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