Tag Archives: Neil Creighton

Neil Creighton

I wake

to the flickering screen’s images
of desperation and remorse,
the bleak recounting of misdeeds,
lies, greed, corruption,
scenes of anger, partisan politics, accusation,
analysis, implication, expectation, speculation,

but in the blue-sky day outside
the gum trees are in nectar-filled
explosion of blossom
and the air is filled with flocks
of beautiful rainbow lorikeets
descending to joyously feast
with their excited chatter
and even the grey friar birds,
dipping their dark heads
to fill their curved beaks,
sing their strange chokk-chokk-four-o-clock
in unrestrained, joyous, raucous celebration.


Neil Creighton is ever the optimist.


 

Neil Creighton

The End of the Day

In this tinsel world of botox faces,
perfect orthodontal smiles
and all those desperate attempts
to keep youthful looks

I’m thinking about
the headlong stampede of youth
and the crumbling that comes with age

and I’m also thinking that for beauty
sunset’s red, orange and purple blaze
equals sunrise’s swathe of pastel glow

and how, after the end of day,
is the velvet quilt of night
and the diamond litter of stars.

The Australian poet, Neil Creighton, is ever the optimist. He blogs at windofflowers.blogspot.com.au.

Neil Creighton

A Beam of Light

Scoff, you cynics,
you observers of the here and now,
but we are only our dreams
so why shouldn’t I,
with prophets and seers,
float out of my darkened window
on a beam of pure light,
soaring high above the swamp and desert
to see, just over the horizon,
a new world rising out of the dark,
that one where justice descends
like the morning dew,
swords are beaten into ploughshares
and peace, like a mantle,
covers the glistening earth.

The Australian poet, Neil Creighton, is ever the optimist. He blogs at windofflowers.blogspot.com.au

Neil Creighton

Sun Dance

If only I could
throw words
onto the page
like Jackson Pollock
threw paint onto the canvas,
a kind of divine anarchy,
beautiful chaos
celebrating nothing
but itself,
iridescent,
dripping molten stalactites
in fluro red, orange and green
descending
over the primordial world
aeons before
the red blaze cooled
and life emerged,
slowly,
laboriously,
from the cobalt blue.

The Australian poet, Neil Creighton, is ever the optimist. He blogs at windofflowers.blogspot.com.au.

Neil Creighton

See

See how
on this rainy day
the honeysuckle
dresses in cream and gold

and how
on frosty mornings
the humble wattle displays
her summery-yellow sprays

or how
through the gloom
of grey cloud’s cluster
the sun pokes his bright toe

and hope that
in whatever darkness
come splashes of yellow and gold
and descending columns of light.

Neil Creighton is an Australian poet with a strong interest in social justice and a love of poetry which increasing years have not dimmed.