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Best Poems From
MICHAEL BUHAGIAR
(13 January 1954)
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33.
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Rymbonao
For Jessica on the occasion of her twenty-first 7 Oct 2006
The years are numbered twenty-one
Since Jessica saw the day;
Dead time of ice, then the starters gun
Would send the sun away.
The sun is a chariot drawn by steeds
That sweeps across the sky,
And in the hands of a hero rich with deeds
The golden reins do lie.
To us, the watchers in poor seats,
The length of course we see
Shrinks as nights old flood defeats
The light that once was free.
And then, in the awful deep abyss,
Day will burst his chains,
And spring the season of colour to kiss
Till only love remains.
One day the charioteer must die,
The race be run no more;
The car in rust and pieces lie,
And closed the stable door.
A remnant light the empty track
Till eyes and it expire;
The swing that sectored forth and back
At nadir climb no higher.
Yet far off in some land unknown
On some dark troubled shore,
The drivers coffin lid may grown
And creak the stable door;
The racecourse rise with stands again
And fill unto the brim
With watchers tense and tall with strain
To cheer the burning Him.
Michael Buhagiar
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34.
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The Ross Valley, Kiama
A high new moon of mountains cradling
Rolling stonewalled velvet fields,
With herds and homes and apt hands ladling
Milk pumped fresh which fullness yields;
Rows of palms like milk ejecting
In lofty founts from massaged nipples;
High thin calls of birds injecting
Silence; a breeze that dam glass ripples.
And Rex with dainty pearls not hung
Is thrusting his blade, or charging a rival,
Or fixing a rambler with Mars-red eyne.
While a corpse is served on a crust of dung
As a calf in plaints abides its revival.
A bores dark eye is lashed with kine.
Michael Buhagiar
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