Clive Turnbull
Clive Turnbull Poems
What race is this
hard wintering along the spray line
speaking stone?
...
Feel for life
And be perplexed.
Make a start
With a pulse spring step that is uncertain
...
An old man retreads the past,
drags the clubfoot of statemanship
across the terrace top of dreaming.
...
To look down on a field of flax
is sky enough
so what are they all doing
looking up, just looking,
...
Clive Turnbull Biography
Since leaving work I have again gone in search of the lyric bird of poetry. Poemhunter seemed a friendly place to start again. Years past some of my poems and photographs appeared in the trade mags. To me, the making of words and pictures always seem to come from the same mysterious, reflective place. For photographs catch me on greyfield1@flickr.com)
The Best Poem Of Clive Turnbull
The Redshank Speaks
What race is this
hard wintering along the spray line
speaking stone?
Only a man
booted in the salt marsh.
The head is lodestone
and all knowing.
The heart is amber.
His eyes drip obsidian.
An aeon before remembering
this place was cataclysmic
mountaing building
beyond human resonance.
And still he shudders,
sees it all, sees me,
nails it all together.
Migrant to Triassic muds
my beak nails only the worm.
My cry gathers the moment
and beckons him on.
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4/28/2024 1:51:23 AM # 1.0.0.1119
