Planless Sydney’s crammed; just here, Queen’s Square,
A clearing and clean thrust of brick above
The lunchtime swarm in huddle or in groove,
Vast Pac-Man game: now step/now stop/now veer.

Up Philip Street, Chicane’s parade looks dull,
Black robes like drooping sails. The Public Good
Troops by in grey (though dreams of rival blood
On office floors are gaudy in his skull).

Down King Street yelps Consumption, ageing cur,
Chews the air or gulps a coloured fly.
Meanwhile, all pigeon-pooped upon her square,
Victoria as corroded faith waits by…

But James…

Saint James, like fired bush, finds sun, sucks air,
And sings through every tingling brick O Purify.


About mosomoso

Growing moso bamboo on the mid-coast of NSW, Australia.
This entry was posted in POETRY. Bookmark the permalink.


  1. beththeserf says:

    ‘Saint James, like fired bush, finds sun, sucks air,
    And sings through every tingling brick O purify.’

    Full of surprises ain’ yer?

    • mosomoso says:

      I like to rattle a few hulls with my live lobsters.

      But that’s just about the last poem from the bottom of the last drawer. I think. There are drawers in my house where even silverfish fear to tread.

      I am no poet, just a plot-blocked yarn writer. I leave poetry to my serfs. I think it’s the weak candlelight and plain diet which stimulates them to verse.

  2. beththeserf says:

    Weak something or other … I think I may have done me last ‘essay,
    ‘ meaning to try.’ Thx fer directing the troops to it @ CE. I have had
    69 views but nary a comment, + or- … Serfs recommend toffs ter
    keep persevering at the poem thing, they are so good at it, that
    toff diversity.

  3. beththeserf says:

    * Schumpeter has that name because there is no natural justice.

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