Tony Beyer
METAPHYSICALS
from here we go forward or back
but not sideways
the forest’s oldest trees
landmarks for generations
are dying
and we can’t save them
send your children and their
friends if you must
but stay where you are safest
on flat and limitless grassland
_
in the forest at night
there are things you’re not supposed to see
they have various names
but no consistently witnessed shape or form
all cultures are susceptible to them
particularly in these islands
separated for the better
from the motherland millennia ago
_
an untidy dwelling
between shelter belts
the current occupant
has no memory of his predecessor
nor will he be remembered
by name or deed
once his successor has cleared the grounds
painted walls and doors
and settled in
to wait his turn
_
among the trillions of dreams
filed at the Oneiric Centre
only a very small number
refer to rain or consequent flood
nearly every myth has gone over to fire
as the origin of catastrophe
blackened remains of crashed angels
validate the sites
_
a bird approaches
with the question no one can answer
its polished eye both
inquisitive and contemptuous
now the wind has stopped calling out
over empty troughs
from here to the horizon
cracked scapulae of prophetic cattle
a scavenger’s grunts
and trampling pads
_
in the slitted light under the porch
spiders appoint clever snares
then they lurk with lethal intent
in the shadows between
their strategy is the vehicle
for divers comparisons
iniquitous or benign
or downright evangelical
COMMON SPEECH
where we live
between northern
and southern bights
the wind scours the weather
out to sea
kayak fishermen
struggle shoreward
with their catch under canvas
wet through
and blue with cold
beyond the dunes
old men in
particular remain
in good health
well into their years
I love the sandy light
in my workroom
after midday
with the blind half
closed against the sun
from here we go forward or back
but not sideways
the forest’s oldest trees
landmarks for generations
are dying
and we can’t save them
send your children and their
friends if you must
but stay where you are safest
on flat and limitless grassland
_
in the forest at night
there are things you’re not supposed to see
they have various names
but no consistently witnessed shape or form
all cultures are susceptible to them
particularly in these islands
separated for the better
from the motherland millennia ago
_
an untidy dwelling
between shelter belts
the current occupant
has no memory of his predecessor
nor will he be remembered
by name or deed
once his successor has cleared the grounds
painted walls and doors
and settled in
to wait his turn
_
among the trillions of dreams
filed at the Oneiric Centre
only a very small number
refer to rain or consequent flood
nearly every myth has gone over to fire
as the origin of catastrophe
blackened remains of crashed angels
validate the sites
_
a bird approaches
with the question no one can answer
its polished eye both
inquisitive and contemptuous
now the wind has stopped calling out
over empty troughs
from here to the horizon
cracked scapulae of prophetic cattle
a scavenger’s grunts
and trampling pads
_
in the slitted light under the porch
spiders appoint clever snares
then they lurk with lethal intent
in the shadows between
their strategy is the vehicle
for divers comparisons
iniquitous or benign
or downright evangelical
COMMON SPEECH
where we live
between northern
and southern bights
the wind scours the weather
out to sea
kayak fishermen
struggle shoreward
with their catch under canvas
wet through
and blue with cold
beyond the dunes
old men in
particular remain
in good health
well into their years
I love the sandy light
in my workroom
after midday
with the blind half
closed against the sun
© Copyright Tony Beyer 2021
Tony Beyer’s print titles include Anchor Stone, a finalist in the poetry category of the 2018 New Zealand Book Awards, and Friday Prayers (2019), both from Cold Hub Press. Recent poems have appeared in Hamilton Stone Review, Molly Bloom, Mudlark, Otoliths and elsewhere.