One Afternoon
I squat in the home the river has carved,
In sunlight painted dappled through a brush of leaves.
The water babbles as it rolls across shallows
Sharing its secrets with a bathing heron.
In sunlight painted dappled through a brush of leaves.
The water babbles as it rolls across shallows
Sharing its secrets with a bathing heron.
Between my fingers is an old master
Trapped in prison-pages yellowed with age;
They have been creased and bent
As I try to beckon him out.
Trapped in prison-pages yellowed with age;
They have been creased and bent
As I try to beckon him out.
As the sun slips between branches
And eyelids bare the weight of mountains
The river quiets.
When the stream rests
I hear whispered on the winds hush
The words of one long dead.
And eyelids bare the weight of mountains
The river quiets.
When the stream rests
I hear whispered on the winds hush
The words of one long dead.
Jacob Parsons
Jacob Parsons is a young poet and essayist based in
Darwin, Australia. He writes mostly to justify to himself the excessive amount
of time he spends sitting around. Jacob’s work can be found in The Cadaverine
and is forthcoming in Plum Tree Tavern.
Tags:
Poetry