Ross Clark Poems

just after rain
when the water lies hesitant and pure
on the roads and footpaths
and a few cars still have their lights on
...

the white, black, grey ones of magpie, crow or galah,
the oil-pastel spectrum of lorikeet or budgerigar,
a kookaburra's henna and ochre brown.
I find them all by looking down,
...

My four uncles took their turns
in the harbouring of me;
they stepped up to my boyish needs,
whatever they might be.
...

Men look at her naked, when she
does not know they are watching;
they can look at her naked even
when she is dressed and far away,
...

Halfway up the mountain
to my friend's place, the road
a decade unfamiliar to me
and darkness already cloaking
...

Midnight pilots the mind to miracles
or mirages. Thought lies anchored
with its crew at rest and no lookout
to warn of the interloper boarding
...

Yes, I have sent three crows
to crenellate your guttering,
to stave your powerlines:
muttering their rosaries,
...

the zen photographer
travelled the world's four seasons
without his camera
when he returned home
...

The landlord's men have cut my rope
and flung it far from me;
there's barely now three feet of it
still hanging from my tree –
...