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From the start she struck me as sturdy

Her dress always seemed to rustle

Too late I found what was underneath:

Ten stone of sinews and pure muscle


Now I was never known as a weakling

My pecs were moderately developed

Yet no man of modest stature could cope

When in her strong arms enveloped


The power of Clara overwhelmed me

As it would most normal fellows


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Three Nocturnes


Three Nocturnes


While poring over dusty corners of an ancient night

I sang in darken'd evening flight, a voice edged

by the pain of doubt, a tempered blade to fight

an inner shout; the fearful dredge

of insomnia, the purgatory of my silent gaze;

remembrance too of sultry Australian dog days.


South-West karris loom ink-black, and rustle

as night-walkers, stepp...

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ancientArcadiandog daysdoubtfightgazepeerrustletranquility

And Now I'm Old

This poem carries faint echoes of winter in a Mediterranean climate, in this case the South West of Western Australia; limpid skies, stormclouds threatening, people in overcoats walking hastily. Rather like an English summer, I would have thought!


And Now I'm Old

And now I'm old as softening apples

left forgotten on a sideboard

after a windy day,

the murmur of the evening room


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