The day was a peach

                                        and I haven’t written a single line: 
it was too sweet              too perfect for poetry. 

from early the stars                         then dawn 
an orange tint on                a green shot sea. 

all morning, the clouds                                     aligned 
perfectly to convey                  as if by Hokusai himself.

not a line today                 though the leaves on my pumpkin vine 
applauded in the wind                           100 thumbs up 

and my old dog rolled her rump 
on the lawn                  laughing                       the sunshine.

at dinner we talked Palermo                  down-scrolled our phones. 
was this really                    only                      two years ago? 

oh that place — the caponata, the footballers at the next table 
they were so young                  and the bread            the bread... 

‘I know it,’ our waiter said. ‘Just off the square, my cousin...’ 
as he sloshed more wine.                 by then we were a little drunk 

you leaned against me            giggling           and I (as ever) felt 
the years                                                 and all we’d undone.

I’ve written nothing 
though we stood in the dark               kids again 

finding figures in moonbright clouds                               a koala 
a camel into a rabbit                             an angel blown backwards. 

Pioneer Park was quiet for once                  all those resting souls 
and there the bells of Monreale               still calling the faithful

ah, what a day                                         a perfect sweet peach 
                                              and I haven’t written a single line.

Image: South Wind, Clear Sky (Gaifū kaisei), also known as Red Fuji, from the series Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji (Fugaku sanjūrokkei) c/- Museum of Fine Arts, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

A circular poem written for Dverse, the poets pub where I’m hosting tonight (bar opens Thursday 3.00pm New York time). Tonight we’re talking about circular poems. A circular poem is one which starts in one place, then journeys away from that place and then circles back to the beginning. Why not drop by and join the fun.

Pioneer Park in Wollongong NSW is a small park in the centre of town which was established over one of the first cemeteries in Wollongong.

And here’s an amazing piece by American composer Ben Johnston (1926-2019) his String Quartet No. 9 – with the Kepler String Quartet (I don’t know what micro-tones are but this piece uses…)

33 thoughts on “The day was a peach”

  1. Your poem is wonderful. About as perfect as a poem can be. I even know your park’s locale. I lived in Wollongong for 1 1/2 years in 1971 and 72. This technique obviously worked beautifully for you.

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  4. My goodness this is gorgeous! 💝 I love the nod to Hokusai 😀 a fine artist of the Edo period and the way the poem goes full circle as you describe the wonderful events of the day. This.. is .. perfection. 🙂

    Thank you for the glorious prompt! I quite enjoyed myself 😀

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  5. I love the way you’ve laid out this poem, Peter, the completed circle, and the Hokusai image to illustrate it. I especially love the ‘orange tint on a green shot sea’ – I didn’t need to see the picture to see that vivid image in my mind – and the joyfulness of the leaves on the pumpkin vine and the sold dog rolling her rump. It’s an intimate poem, but I feel involved in everything, as if I was there. Lines well written.

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  7. A day ‘too perfect for poetry’ – how wonderful! I think these days are poetry itself. I’m lucky enough to have many such. You really brought this one to life.

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  8. A real peach of a composition and an experience at some point you were able to compose into an intimate sharing for the reader’s enjoyment. Its details say it is more than fiction. I love every bit of it, from the top image to the musical selection. There is something to be said for staying put as you become bonded with a place and its history.

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  12. I admit it, I’m not a fan of poems with blanks in the lines that wander over the page. I never know where to go. I’m like that in the car when a road without markings unexpectedly widens at a junction and I’m not sure where I’m suppose to put myself.
    I loved this poem though, and the blanks acted as disjoints in the speech, the way memory or a group conversation works. The images are lovely.

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  14. This was a wonderful journey Peter, out, around, then back. A true pleasure to read! I hadn’t written a single line for several days — but arthritis in m’fingers, not a peach of a day…

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  20. ah, what a day
    a perfect sweet peach
    and I haven’t written a single line

    The park and the goings-on there are so mesmerizing that one is buoyed by just being there forgetting the intention of writing. Wonderful write, Pete!

    Hank

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  21. Reminds me that we don’t know perfect even when it kicks us in the caboose.Not a single line, but a glorious plenty … I’m not a fan of jarring lines but these conspire well to decant a perfect moment present and long past. Great challenge Peter, and a response sweet as a peach.

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  24. You still have not written a single line, you have lived them together. I seldom have lived a single day through writing as closely as I lived this one with you today. Maybe not since I read Portrait of an Artist by Joyce, or the name day party by Chekhov. Truly

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