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End
of Season
quietly
watching
for whistle of wing
through bloody sunset
mirrored in home lagoon
cold
of the double
chills blued fingers
autumn
breath
lives briefly
in frozen air
Copyright
© 2001 Peter Tremain
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The
Sun Sleeper
He
sleeps on
There
on his bench
in the thin city sun
as others hurry past him
doing the things that they must do.
Swells
of traffic noise
break over him
like ocean waves
that try to wake a rock
Few
see
those who do
care little
He
sponges in the warmth
its free
night will bring
somnambulant walk
with a paper bagged
bottle of blanket
tucked firmly under his arm.
His
only armour against the cold
But
for now
he sleeps
to the beat of the sun.
Copyright
© 2001 Peter Tremain
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Dream
of the Middle Aged Man
There
is a rope
coiled neatly
hanging
on the wall of the shed
in the back of his head
There
is a branch
reaching out
from the tree
in the park
in a corner of his thoughts
There
is a night
waiting
on the path
of his future
in the possibilities of his mind.
Copyright
© 2001 Peter Tremain
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