Mass movements form landslide dams
water-logged debris from days of downpour
soil slumps, slides, trees fall to rolling logs.
Mud and earth backed-up to bursting
silty avalanche betrays stacked sand-bags
a saturated story of shifting dirt.
Deluge persists after deluges cease
no need to read the residue
of forests strewn like tealeaves on lawn.
Priorities rise to higher ground
drained and piled the softened land
moulded by unearthly hands.
© Saradha Koirala 2012
more Tuesday Poems here
In less than nine weeks my brother will be a dad.
He’s bigger and smarter and faster than me
rivalry sets me longing
for something of my own.
I think about it one night when I can’t sit still
and clumsy fingers make my violin strings twang.
The roof iron seems to flap loose in a gust
the neighbour’s dog… well.
I think about it when my brother phones
with news of Dad’s heart attack
and the next day when he knocks on my door
bearing brownie and sonograms.
Pictures of my ghostly nephew.
A curved spine highlighted grey
the hollows of a face.
He has a big round belly
that makes us laugh, makes us feel safe.
© Saradha Koirala 2011
more Tuesday Poems here
more Tuesday Poems here
Well-presented, dramatic flair
lovely outlook downtown and debonair!
Sunny and sophisticated, stunning views
flowing space, light and airy rooms.
Charming contemporary-classical feeling
fantastic sun, stunningly appealing.
Landscaped enclosed well-proportioned haven
separate dining, convenient location.
An absolute suntrap! Fully fenced!
Quintessential elegance.
more Tuesday Poems here
Stumbling, they clutch each other’s frames
flimsy support in a world now only
stretching backwards.
Yesterday, snowfall: a slip
a laugh until nothing seemed to fit
footwear, tyres, gloom.
The world always knows
when to close back over
hardening
into scab and scar.
Today we take
our coats off
as we walk
Tomorrow
maybe boots,
maybe
socks.
© Saradha Koirala 2011
more Tuesday Poems here
Plumes of smoke
conceal
bright plumage.
more Tuesday Poems here
This strange building, park-lined
porched with old couches
shadowed by (whispered with) new bamboo
do you see?
You blow me kisses from doorways
and I extend the metaphor to breaking point.
Did you promise to check for submerged logs,
those floating branches,
before I jumped in? you promise
Or didthey wouldn’t (to) be there?
(Or did you make sure to make clear
that you’d made no promise at all?)
You blow me kisses from doorways
from bus stops, the driveway
as I marvel at what the soles of my shoes can endure.
I wear yesterday’s clothes.
You blow me kisses from doorways
say no regrets but no guarantees‘in love’.
love but not
I step in butter, I step in squashed fruit.
I try to (can) be the shadow of the bird on the branch
of the tree that I lie beneath.
But I remain like this.
You blow me kisses from doorways
and the back lawn struggles a shimmering moment of bees.
to release
© Saradha Koirala 2011
more Tuesday Poems here
The breakthrough came with the rainbow I made when I drove that stolen Talbot Sunbeam quickly through the village ford.
from CloudCuckooLand, Faber and Faber Ltd 1997
more Tuesday Poems here
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.
XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
Today is my 31st birthday! 13 is a much more interesting number.
I take into my arms more than I can bear to hold
I am toppled by the world
a creation of ladders, pianos, stairs cut into the rock
a devouring world of teeth where even the common snail
eats the heart out of a forest
as you and I do, who are human, at night
yet still I take into my arms more than I can bear to hold
From The Goose Bath Poems, Vintage 2006
I think of this poem often and at times also feel ‘toppled by the world.’ Every day brings good and bad news that overwhelms; emotions that take me by surprise; sights of wonder, beauty, scale. Shedding light and putting into perspective: we are so small, so potent.
Saradha Koirala 