Peter Day


Pictures of My Father



House 4

I am here now, and I have arrived
restored by the dust, I CAN SEE YOU defined over there,
deafened by the silent padding of your shoe

and your waving arm between the weeds constellation.
MY - HOW THEY HAVE GROWN HIGH

How angry you would be (and are) at their size.
Shall we steal another glance

at their wild apparitions and daring bouquets
plotting and building?

They are homicidally bending,
thrashing wildly,

rending their tangled stems against the pane,
against the mortar.

Petal bombs start pink firestorms,
blurring and whirring cavalcades

Have they no shame these strumpets,
no shame at all






All blousy pink petticoats and ready to wear emotions
these thin figured cat-walking models,

peering and glaring neighbours.
See - some teenage mercenaries

have already taken over.
This showy pout of indecent sprays of dissent

are covering fires for
their bloody politics and the war-waging militias

irregulars, with their crazy dancers,
invaders, banished onto the war of the land:

our back garden reveals
their fanatics and thrashing zeal,

a willingness to take over at any cost.
IT IS WE WHO OWN THE LAND THAT WILL
SHAPE ANYTHING YOU WILL BECOME

Militant posturing covers their ground
hidden revolutionary breeders offer

no sanctuary and
no trespassing allowed.