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Unsent letter


Four poems by Jamie Dawe


Satirical Advantages of Poverty


You are born an environmental caped crusader by default

Non-existent vehicle with burbling smog fluting out

Excessive energy bills? Oh, Not you….

Cramped housing, a blanket or an open 44-gallon drum to toast up your frozen feet in the sub zero

Nothing too good for the impoverished!

The moths in the wallet detracts you from phoney donations and scams

Upmarket clothing boutiques will shoo you with your thrift shop budget

Kidnapping is an unlikely consequence under the poverty line belt

Your small palette experiences will be noted by Greenpeace

Nevertheless, the droll smorgasbord will be fixed with a lekker six pack of beer

To your minus, the Amazon will inhale the alcohol carbon over six months as you guzzle away the gloominess

Prospects of marrying up: the chances are Lilliputian

Quintessentially a land lubber, so globe-trotting is purely rhapsodical posters in travel agencies   

Life’s troubles won’t be extended as specialists rely on the sickly rich

Coffins will be at bottom dollar basement prices- endangered timbers ever so tickled pink

And the ausgespielt tenet that ‘the meek shall inherit the earth’ firmly supplanted in the psyche

If that is alright with you?



Solomon’s Wisdom


The souls of the righteous engraved

With the graspable callused hands of Solomon

Mother lies underneath the tombstone

Withering flowers in vases keening

A day after burial, the son whom curses his grief: a vivid dream

“Wake up my child. There is impending seriousness as your father has left the teapot on the electric stove”

Her softness echoing an earth tremor inside him

Instinctively he telephones his Dad at 1.49 a.m. with the warning

Father drops the telephone smelling exigency

Returning to finalize the call

“But how did you know?”

This man with half a century of literary acumen

Black and white print predominantly superceding his emotions

Weeping inconsolably for his irreplaceable first love and the mother of his children

Dad went to Myers in Margaret Street the following day and used a electric kettle from that day forth



Temporary Rental


Concrete pillar cancer

Leathered surgery cosmetic epidermis

Creaking joints and hardened sinues

Muscle and free radical cell compromise

Collapsing plaque inner walls

Plumbing with the incontinent drip

Aged roofed shingles

Grimy windows of time

The octogenarian endeavouring a sedentary pathway



Unsent letter


Fossicking through a brown Grosby “They’re Great Mate” shoebox

I find an unmistakeable envelope of unrequited ardour

Joanne Corbin appeared out of left field assisting me with a 12 month old infant son Isaiah and a 6 year old Jasmine

She was a doppleganger For Honeysuckle Weeks character Samantha Stuart in the series of Foyles’ War

Doctor Kelley at 125 Russell Street informed Mum of her terminal due date and Dad had a massive heart attack immediately

It was wrong to expect her to wade through the river of sadness of family obligations

Right person, wrong timing and I turned away

I have sought to explain myself by searching

15 years later it is seemly to vanquish the letter

Guaranteed, she found someone somewhere better



Jamie Dawe is a poet.


Topic tags: Jamie Dawe, poetry



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