The Lord in the Wind

Worship the Lord, the God of wild cold kind,
Water and wind,
Motionless trees,
And a change, and cries and silences.

The woods shake off a wild spray of old rain,
The stormy flowers are my very heart;
I worship thee again
Glory of strong trees, wet buds, and the sky!

I have laid a windy perfume on the stone;
Wood resin, and the blossom flame are nigh;
I have brought sweet wood, I come to dawn alone;
My prayer, keep grand the tempest in my heart!

The east is blenching now, and flames the stone;
My prayer, keep dew and anthem in my heart!

                                                      James Picot (C1941)


Next poem by James Picot

To the Rosella in the Poinsettia Tree

Beautiful bird, in as your wings as vivid
A tree, Rosella! Beautiful bird, I said:

'Your tent won't shelter you or love or me,
Red lad, these nine-o'-clocks, when Beauty looks
Pomp undue – indeed a ceremony
Too grand for the brown-eaten ribbed old livid
Wall behind of a tin factory!'

But the upward sun still burned them on
To tulip crimson from their poppy scarlet,
Those poinsettia petals, till at almost
Noon, he glowed in turn behind each moon,
Lamp, leaf, - the Wished-for-One-O, separate, crimson!-

For he seemed to burn each petal free,
Till but that Double Fire was to see –
And now there is but Light for Love to be!

                                                    James Picot, 1941

Return to  James Picot 

Prickly Pear

The smashed and tumbling trunks litter the plains;
Prickly Pear at Chinchilla 1928Their wooden antlers pierce the fleshy leaves
Of prickly pear clumps, and a ruby fire
Eats at the cores of logs, and flakes them off
In incandescent jewels, breaking down,
To die and blacken, in the mountain ash
Among the cacti; and blood-coloured fruit
Bestrew the sandy fringes of the fires,
And fall where is no fire. Leaves glitter back
The sunlight; here and there a wilga-tree
A lovely shadow for thin cattle spreads.
But from the nadir half way to the sun
Mounts a red haze, and the sun, falling down,
Loses his rays, and reddens with the haze,
And falls behind the earth. A jackass laughs,
And it is night…….
Stay! through the wilderness there comes a train
Taking the iron road, and its bright panes
Are memories of cities. Does its smoke
Astonish walleroos and curious birds?

                                                  James Picot


Next poem by James Picot