SMALL VICTORIES
There’s those magical things
like no bills
the second movement of
Beethoven’s ninth symphony
love that meant something
a good supply of toilet paper
hard punches on heavy bags
in foreign countries
a nice steak on the pan
an editor that takes your best
poem
an old Wanderlei Silva fight
a morning when you want to
get out of bed
a woman you can’t wait to
come home to
a decent person you’ll always
remember;
watching the lights reflect on
the bay
on a Tuesday night
thirty-five and still strong,
still able to curse what I don’t
like—
even after so many wars;
wiser than most,
though smart enough to know
what I know means little—
on a winters night that feels
more like summer
two pages into my new notepad:
and no way back.
STUCK IN THE MIDDLE
Green bugs crawling down
the tables
while bombs explode and
homeless beg for loose
change
spring night in Sydney
the clock saying 8:43
a rash on the arm and hole
in the heart
paint peeling from the walls
but nothing new showing
a police siren screaming
a mind that dreams of peace
wondering why the gods do
so little?
they’ve obviously given up
on us as well
but I won’t give up tonight
not young and not old
but ready for something
more
while the planes fly the rich
into space
and the bodies bleed the same
as they always have
alone on a spring night
waiting on the answers
to finally come.
THE ARTISTS LEGACY
Carver wrote
well
& so did Gorky
& Robinson J
& Hamsun
& Voltaire wrote
the best of all,
& music floats
around my apartment
composed by Arvo Part
on a Sunday afternoon
in Sydney:
dark & raining outside—
surrounded by light inside.
Bio: Brenton Booth lives in Sydney, Australia. Poetry and
fiction of his has appeared in a variety of small press publications. If you
are interested in reading more of his work visit brentonbooth.weebly.com
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