ROCK

Concerning death

And will the dust of this life
fall upon the waters?
Or will it scatter seed-like
on the earth, whispering
here I am again, naked?
Will some premeditated rebirth
breathe me back into
the world?

On being an island

I dwell between two rivers,
and against my shores wash two tides:
one rushing to the past,
the other to the future.
I relish comfort in old grief,
but fear risk in new days;
the predatory streams clutch
at my senses, and floods beckon.
Am I to vanish beneath
the swollen waters?
Or can I shimmer, still undefined,
my life as though a beacon, on some
untroubled coast?

Rock

(after a visit to the Grampian Mountains)

I came to unbreakable rock,
Older than any on earth;
Rock that had gazed upon country
Before any woman gave birth.

Beside this unbreakable rock,
My life is not even a stone;
The rock will exist forever,
Long after all life has gone.

Kampong

(about a village in Malaysia)

Wooden houses crouch low
beneath tall palms, pastel walls,
pretty pinks and greens, with
windows open to the steamy air,
while witless chickens peck at the dust,
so shrunk among the jungle vastness,
plantations darkening the land
for an old man on a bicycle.

James Aitchison is an Australian author and poet whose credits include the Adelaide Literary Magazine, the Australian Poetry Anthology, Quadrant, Aesthetica, Poetry for Mental Health, Literary Yard, and many others.