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This page has audio. Click titles then listen.
Under The
Eucalyptus Tree
They sat under the eucalyptus tree
lost in love, in eachother.
Unaware of the Drop bear
hovering on a branch
just above them.
He spoke of love and she,
protection and family
as they watched
the Jackelope graze in the
clover field beside them.
They made love
twisting into sweat and skin,
like new lovers do,
while the Yowie
slept restless beneath them.
touched breasts with palms,
they lay on their backs listening
to the distant sound of water
and love as Bunyips hid in
the riverbed, waiting for
nightfall.
Poems on this page © Michelle M. Buchanan 2005-2006
What's your
favorite poem that you've written? Care to share it with us?
Prayer For My Son What is your favorite poem by another poet
? Eleven Eyes by Lyn Hejinian.
Although, my favorite poem is subject to change, usually weekly. I love the confessional poets.
I like to read Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath,
Adrienne Rich, Marie Howe, Sharon Olds. I
like Ashbery, Pound, Ginsberg, WC Williams and Neruda as well. I admire
Hirshfield, Levertov and honestly I could go on and on here. I try to
read many poets, dead or alive. As a writer reading other poets is as
important as breathing for me. I'd have to say every poet I've read has
influenced me in some way.
Rhyme is a big thing for me.
I'm jealous of a poet who can do it well, although I don't see it very
often, especially in emerging poets. I definitely think it's an art
within the craft to pull it off with originality. So I guess my pet
peeve is poorly written rhyme.
When she is not writing, life coaching three children,
partnering one husband, publishing, editing, learning,
volunteering or laboring many other side (unpaid) jobs you
can find her expressing herself on canvas, with a brush and
oils.
You were born into the arms
of a cold, glass jar.
Unfeeling and sterile, sucked
out like the after current of an angry
wave when the ocean sped
on that slow, slow day.
They set you on high on a window ledge
that passed to an unknown dimension,
where only a single, white hand
waited to receive you.
I saw you, glistening in the light
though milky tears
and red glass. I heard
you calling to me. I did.
For a moment the clock stopped,
while its hum grew louder.
Rooms went deaf, drawers
emptied and every piece of me numb
into a prayer of mad whispers.
Under hot, white light
the tick tock of sealed lips
and covered mouths of blue
suffocated us. I snuffed you out
into a sleep, a trance of
no going back, no taking back,
no returning.
And every month pieces of you
flow from me.
Reminding me of your birth,
the mad whispers
and a prayer
that went unheard.
What poets have had the most influence on your
work?
What's your pet-peeve in a poem?
