Sunday, July 29, 2012


The book you can’t put down
didn’t seduce the reader

The pen may stop
but not the mind belied

by those imagined eyes
that read the script

Scrivel is scribed
on any dirty wall

On every tree trunk
all wide open skies

and the face of each potato
scrubbed clean

and readied for the oven
the message

the nutrient uttered
before it dies

The water drops and dries
and washes colours as it describes

in runnels
the way the reader felt

Grant Duncan 7.7.12

Friday, July 20, 2012

Distance overcome

And the sheen on his heart
was the surface of a shadow

as the boy took pity
on a single stalk of clover

No-one knew that poet
who saw this from afar

Who is the poet? she asked
and someone replied

He is half a man
and half a dog

chewing bones of once-living things
sniffing out the left-over needs of his other half

looking for a place to lie
and rest his dirty paws

Like him I have seen it pour like rain
and ripple over concrete

and I’ve smelt the saline air
and crunched the pebbles of that shore-line

of my love
And I know your mind

as I know your tongue
How soft your hand was then

You sort of led our way
to a place I know quite well

and there you pointed to a coffin
alluding to the man within

He did not stir visibly
But we move with him in mind

and with each move we make
tighten the knots that tie us                                                     

Grant Duncan
Wellington–Auckland 22.6.03

Thursday, July 19, 2012

For Wallace or Samuel

Nothing could be changed so smoothly
nor inform the eye so thoroughly

as editing at will
And I anticipate retribution

now at the clammy hands
of your dual ghosthood

Remind me what it was really like
when light streamed through dust

and took to dark ink
as fondly as to a parrot’s wing

Lucky bastards
Your wonderings are over

and those carets that pointed
to once omitted things

intrude and shoulder a word or two
aside no more

                                                                                   Grant Duncan 29.6.12