Now, from Australia, comes Ron Wiseman, with wisdom

for us today, about life and growing old.   Known as Lyndon on Allpoetry.com,  he can be found here:

http://allpoetry.com/Lyndon

A winter god

 

I look to one side of the living room and see a jungle of treeferns dripping with mist.
On the other, I see fogs curl along valleys far below, slow as glaciers.
A pale moon hangs among clouds, points to the western sun.

I have just showered and it’s winter outside, Australian winter, cool
and bleak but I am warm in front of a log fire pouring carbon footprints
one by one into the still air above, mounting to the stratosphere or

somewhere near it, and so I ponder forgetting I look like a sculpture
of David, if somewhat flabby and old, still completely male,
a flushed image of God, in our little cottage mounted upon a cliff-face

in defiance of gravity, winter, the whole of creation including the stars,
all dimensions of everything undiscovered as yet and, for a nanosecond,
I am a god, powerful, invulnerable and then I wake up, wide-eyed to

hear my wife say, “Are you all right, dear?”
I am as strong as I can hope to be and hide nakedness
not out of prudery; more, a sense of disappointment

 

emanating from a hallway mirror, reflecting whey milk of sunshine

left dissected, a heart rendered unsure, and a black cloud

hovering over coastal hills, sullen and unmoving. 

Check him out.