Tag Archives: poem

Poem

January 10, 2015Poetrylaws of verse, meter, poem, poetry, rhyme and metre, versetimalderman

Metre and rhyme
So they teach
Is how the poem goes
Pentamic ways of old
Cat rhymes with bat
Love rhymes with dove
Aardvark rhymes with…..
Don’t write verse about
Aardvarks

Long short short
Short short metre of old
Dactylic hexameters…what the!
Classic poems of old
Lambic pentameter
Vedic and Sanskrit metre
Hendecasyllable which rhymes
With nothing

Lines and half lines
Stressed/unstressed
Ceasura…what the!
Trochaic, Spondaic,
Anapestic, Amphibrachic,
Pyrrhic
More like diseases than verse
All this to say
This is how I feel
This is today.

Lost in laws of language
Taught as days of old
All these strictures
All this binding
To confuse, confound
I choose to ignore
Refuse to conform
Free-form
As the words come
Commitment to paper
True from the heart
Unrhymed, unmetred
Fuck you I say
While thinking
Fuck rhymes with duck

Tim Alderman
(C) 2014

Sunset #2 (part 20 of ‘The Northern Territory Suite’)

November 20, 2014Poetryaboriginal art, Kakadu National Park, Nahdab Floodplain, northern territory, pioetry, poem, Ubirr Rocktimalderman

Rock in ancient sacred land
Ubirr by name
Lost in endless time.
One side, seasonal floodplain
Other grasslands green.
A golden disc sinks slowly
Toward the distant horizon line
Reflected by water
Coloured by clouds
That float like distant shores.
We sink down on knees
Adoration of natures might
Quiet surrounds us as we watch
The sunset become the dark
The dark that is night.
The stars appear from the disappearing rays
We turn quietly for home
A silence most profound
The sun is gone

Tim Alderman
(C)2001

Trephina Gorge (part 3 of ‘The Northern Territory Suite’)

Trephina Gorge is just outside Alice Springs, and is part of the MacDonnell Ranges. Most famous feature is Corroboree Rock

Contrasts of startling, vivid colour
Pure white sand of dry river bed
Awaiting the annual rains,
Ochre red of mountain ranges,
Forced up long centuries past.
Bluest of blue sky
Sets a background of breathtaking beauty,
And starkly outlined against all the colours,
A lonely ghost gum sheds its meagre shade, Leafless now
As it fights the unremitting heat.
Footprints in the dry sand bed
Tell of wanderers of times new.
The red dust holds tight the secrets
Of time long ago
Of a people who held
This sacred land to their breast
And gleaned from it
A spirituality of Dreamtime wonder and legend
That we will never touch.

Tim Alderman
(C) 2002

Ochre Mound (part 4 of ‘The Northern Territory Suite’)

November 18, 2014PoetryAyer's Rock, monolith, northern territory, poem, poetry, red centre, Ulurutimalderman

Uluru is the most overwhelming and the most spiritual place I have ever visited. To climb it was not only a great privilege, but a spiritual journey of humbling proportions.

In the morning light I see it rise
High above the desert in its red glory.
Smooth as glass, glazed like finest pottery
It speaks of eons past, of other wars and rituals
Of times long ago, now quickly gone.
Its base of sacred places where none but the initiated may go
Of waved rocks and spirit art telling tales of rich domains
Of animals, plants and water to feed the many tribes
Who worship here still in the silence, and long ago dreaming.
Heat shimmer in the sun, blackened stains from waterfalls
That form during the rains.
We stand, waiting as if for a sign to climb this holy place
A chain our guide, a line at our feet.
We hesitate, fear can be our greatest guide
To claim only in our memories a vision of this holiness,
We bend and touch with our hands.
A great spiritual journey is about to begin.
We climb.

Tim Alderman
(C( 2001

The Ghan (part 1 of ‘The Northern Territory Suite’)

November 17, 2014Poetryfamous trains? great train treks, northern territory, poem, poetry, rail journeys, red centre, The Ghantimalderman

When I travelled on The Ghan, it went from Sydney, then to Adelaide, then on to Alice Springs. Now it goes from Adelaide to Darwin. To travel First Class on The Ghan is to be treated like royalty.

Dreamtime painted ribbon of steel
Flashing through the cold desert night.
Silver rails to destinations known, yet unknown
It snakes its way ever forward.
Past fields of golden Canola flower,
Purple ‘curse’ borders the ribbons of steel.
Night falls as sunset orb sinks low over blue bays
Spreading orange rays to meet the desert red.
We lie to sleep, yet peek through speeding landscapes
Ghostly outlines of trees and abodes,
Speeding us ever onward to sacred places, sacred times.
Our journey nears its end,
The heart of this great land awaits
To overawe us with its wonders.

Tim Alderman
Copyright ©2001

Kata Tjuta (part 5 of ‘The Northern Territory Suite’)

November 16, 2014Poetrykata tjuta, northern territory, poem, portry, the Olgastimalderman

Often inappropriately called The Olga’s, this natural formation is the ONLY break in the flat landscape from the top of Uluru.

Older than time
These rounded mounds
Virgin breasts thrust forth from the Earth.
Scattered red rubble lines the canyon floor
Huge boulders of Red and white conglomerate
Like leftovers
From some Alien war.
A trampled path of recent times
Through a small belt of green
To a small, warm water pool
Left after the rains
We turn
And through the horseshoe shape
Of the entrance to this sacred place
We glimpse forever beyond
A vast desert landscape
That goes on
And on and on.

Tim Alderman
(C) 2002

Karlwekarlwe/Karlu Karlu (part 12 of the ‘Northern Territory Suite’)

November 16, 2014Poetryaboriginal, desert, devil's marbles, dreamtime, northern territory, poem, portrytimalderman

*Also known as the Devil’s Marbles

Dreamtime landscape
Ancient red marbles.
A game that giants played
Or a joke by the devil himself
According to modern name.
Piled atop one another
Or scattered in the surrounding desert sands
They stand
A testament to natures great work
Three times my height they tower
Glazed like ochre mound
Cleft in two some sit
Sliced by a giants knife
Or a bolt of lightening from the
Time worn skies above
We gasp, are awed
That nature in all its brutality
Can cause beauty to be wrought.

Tim Alderman
(C) 2001

Meroogal. – The Women’s Place

November 14, 2014Poetryhistoric houses trust, meroogal, nowra, poem, poetry, womans placetimalderman

An untended garden
Leafless winter trees
And empty silence
Signs that love no longer lives within.
Many generations have passed
Yet the women’s place still has
A woman within.
Soft slide of covered feet
On century older floors.
Smell of old lavender, old rose
Mingled with the dust in the air.
Embroidered, creweled fancies
Tell of hours spent in dull light
Or late afternoon sun
Passing time
Just passing time.
Painted plates, ornaments
Mix of old and curious
Tell of a house much lived in
Nothing here is new.
Rambling rooms hint of customs past
Of visitors on Sundays
Cards left to say they called.
Creak of stairs from silent ghosts
History in a chest
A pantry.
Words of scandals past
Leave insights of people’s lives
We leave much wiser
Understanding, perhaps,

Tim Alderman
(C) 2014

Spikes

November 11, 2014biography, Poetryheedles, mpoetry, pens, poem, spokestimalderman

Spikes of talent
Scrawling, rambling lines
Crawl across a page.
Story unfolds, climbs, engulfs
Then climaxes through to finish.
Spikes of creativity, spikes of poetic rhyme,
An ode. a sonnet, lines of prose,
Limerick, metaphysics combine
In a jumble in the mind.

Spikes of love
Trailing up a taut, hard chest.
Provocative, evocative,
Tales of lust and eros
Clinging in a fist of sated wanting.
Clutch it hard, set it free
A stream, thick cream, juice of love
Shot far into intimate space,
Thrusting, probing, sweating, grunting
Spike and spasm, eluding, wanting
Shot far, cleaved into a mindless void.

Spikes of hate
Mindless, soulless, floating in time.
Missed pasts, missed futures, missed nows
Alone, lost and hating.
A dead father, a dead mother,
A son lost to grief
Yet fearing that a truth be known
And let loose upon a world
Ill prepared for knowledge profound.
Spirituality, prayer, Father, Son and Holy Ghost
Spattered on mensa top
The chalice of hate upturned,
Emptied, cast out, destroyed.
Grail of truth searches still
Resurrection, ascension, redemption,
Virgin birth to spiked cross
Upon the sacred soil
Blood is spilled.

Spikes of death
Bulging vein, tortured flesh
Candle and spoon unite in
Euphoric spasm, orgasmic longing
As slowly, quietly death
Enters through a door unseen.
Tantalised, seduced, psychotic
The path to enlightenment is long,
Twisted, warped, circling through space
Never being grounded, found
Or truth released in ecstasy.
Spiked coffin lid
Laid to rest in spiked grass earth.

A Living Tattoo

November 8, 2014Poetrydragon, pietry, poem, tattootimalderman

I took a dare
And found needled into my arm
A tattoo, a dragon brave and fierce.
With open mouth, and swirling whisker
It is ferocious to observe
And I recollect all too clearly
The pain that placed it there.
The sharp dragging of needle
To outline its majestic head,
The soft brushing as colour
Swirled into the lines now there.
Faded now with time,
Its greens, reds, yellows and oranges
Fading into the years with my time
I remember fondly now the pain
And still, when passing by a mirror
Stop briefly to meet its gaze
And tell it that I regret not
The day I had it made.