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The Seaside

(for Peter Ruppell)

You wrote such a love poem that I was
dumb-founded & left to scratch the sand
Alone in the surf I couldn’t join the bait-diggers
I’d left my fork and bucket at home
& I am not rough by nature

You were sitting on top of a boulder deep in the forest
It was taller than a man & surrounded by pine trees
I think there are pine trees on Fire Island
but I’ve never been to Fire Island, though
I can imagine & we all know what could happen

there, but. . . . . . .
& the world that started in a parked car
was really a fearful one — It would only lead
from one confusion to another
& I couldn’t do this to you on the giant highway

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poem by Lee Harwood
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Caught Up In The Investing Of Bait

Those caught up in the investing of bait,
To have their way...
Find much too late,
We all will learn from our mistakes.
With lessons to learn.
And many of those lessons come,
Without the avoidance of heartache.

The ones who benefit most from this process,
Seem to be the ones selected to be victimized.
With opened eyes now wide and a clarity,
That does not keep them distanced.
A retaliation is sought to return a misunderstanding.
With the use of a mental weapon to unleash,
Like never before or ever felt needed to display.

Those caught up in the investing of bait,
To have their way find much too late...
How difficult it is to admit mistakes.
And escapes are out of the question.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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At Broad Ripple

Oh luxury! Beyond the heat
And dust of town, with dangling feet
Astride the rock below the dam,
In the cool shadows where the calm
Rests on the stream again, and all
Is silent save the waterfall,--
I bait my hook and cast my line,
And feel the best of life is mine.

No high ambition can I claim --
I angle not for lordly game
Of trout, or bass, or wary bream --
A black perch reaches the extreme
Of my desires; and "goggle-eyes"
Are not a thing that I despise;
A sunfish, or a "chub," or a "cat"--
A "silver-side"-- yea, even that!

In eloquent tranquility
The waters lisp and talk to me.

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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Anger and Anguish

You leave these memories you don't need,
To fade away.
Who wants to remember...
People so driven with their no hiding hate.
Who wants to remember...
When truth became for us outdated.
And deceit became the bait,
That was related and we ate it.

Who wants to remember...
This.
Who wants to remember...
Anger and anguish.

Who wants to remember...
This.
Who wants to remember...
Anger and anguish.

You leave these memories you don't need,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Still I Sit With This Bitterness

After fifty years,
You are much too late!
To entice any interests
To bait my creative tastes.

I have not been waiting,
For your awareness to discover...
An identity you have suppressed,
That now finds you recovered.

When I was given 'gifts'
It was my duty to persist...
To lift them to heights.
Not to hide them in fright!

A veil from your eyes have been lifted.
You 'now' want to express your worth.
You now find something within yourself...
That you have found more valuable than dirt!
Weren't you the one to say back then,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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He went Fishing

Fishing tackle in tow
Hoping for a big catch
Jack headed towards
The cool clear waters
The sea was calm and
The sun shone brightly
It was the perfect day
He readied his gear
Fixed the bait with care
And lowered his tackle
Into the water at the edge
Dangling his rod he broke
Into song - a fishing ditty
That sounded nice and witty
But he was awakened soon
From his quiet reverie
By a huge mass that got
Entangled with his gear
The rod seemed to bend
Under the heavy weight

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poem by Sandra Martyres
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Temptation lurks

There is a pleasure in unploughed fields and in pathless woods
There is rapture and boyish excitement on lonely pebbled shore
There is freedom where none intrudes 
The deep moving sea and the music in its roar

I love not my lover the less, but whole humanity more
Especially the feminine walking creatures; the look I steal
From all the beauties in crowded streets and fashion stores
They are like blossom of fresh flowers in throngs
Of dull existence; weeds of insipid wild thorns

To be with them all; among them whole and feel
what I can never express, yet cannot from within conceal

And yet, the expense of dignity is in the waste of shame
When lust is in action, how long does action last
Is it not perjured, murderous, bloody, irreversible damage full of defame
Indeed it is savage, extreme, rude a habit not to trust

All this is well known, yet none knows well

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poem by Isaac Ziv
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The Fishing Trip

The Fishing Trip

By
Ross Dix-Peek

Oh, How I remember those fishing trips with my Dad
Ah, They made me so very, very glad
Up at three in the morn
Long before the coming of the dawn

My father assembling all his fishing tackle
So very gleeful, a laugh and a cackle
“Have you got the bait boy, ready to go? ”
“Yes, Dad”, and away we would go, all in tow

In our dear old “Landie” the rugged road was ne’er a problem
As we traversed the winding dirt tracks, and some
Ah, the window down and the wind in my hair
The smell of fresh bait a waft in the air

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poem by Ross DixPeek
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Wajah Pagi di Wajahmu yang Malam Memancar Cahaya Malammu di Wajah Pagi

Sudah berapa banyak angka dari kalender
Merawat nyeri dari luka paragraf soliloqui
Pada bangunan yang dipurbakan
Setiap jeda waktu terteriak di mulutmu
Serupa dengung tawon dalam hutan
Deru suaramu meruwat perjalanan ngilu

Ngilu: Kau ceritakan lagi pagi ini
Seperti pagi yang lalu tanpa ingata
Mungkin di pagi yang lain, insomniamu
Dan kamu akan datang lagi, ceritakan nyeri
Pada kematian di hamparan panggung teater lengang
Lalu tegang di wajahmu
Lalu tenang seolah-olah
Pada bait-bait puisi
Yang kau sesalkan sebelum tidur
Lalu mimpi buruk melumat sesal
Sembunyikan ketakutan di bibirmu

Bibirmu: Cerita ngilu di sebuah pagi

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poem by Selendang Sulaiman
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A Walgett Episode

The sun strikes down with a blinding glare;
The skies are blue and the plains are wide,
The saltbush plains that are burnt and bare
By Walgett out on the Barwon side --
The Barwon River that wanders down
In a leisurely manner by Walgett Town.
There came a stranger -- a "Cockatoo" --
The word means farmer, as all men know,
Who dwell in the land where the kangaroo
Barks loud at dawn, and the white-eyed crow
Uplifts his song on the stock-yard fence
As he watches the lambkins passing hence.

The sunburnt stranger was gaunt and brown,
But it soon appeared that he meant to flout
The iron law of the country town,
Which is -- that the stranger has got to shout:
"If he will not shout we must take him down,"
Remarked the yokels of Walgett Town.

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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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