Mick Wordley photos Philip White
Hymn For Michael Wordley
beyond the fence trees fizz
the close trees,
hitch-hikers from the North,
are giant rustling grasses:
the silent eucalypts admit them
they bounce and pop with birdies
dancing a bonnie bagatelle
while their silverbacks do politics
if it had different colour
- not all green like this -
it would explain the Chinese
invention of fireworks
above me the hands of man have
made a patio of oregon
with American vines strangling
American wood, clockwise,
while beneath this poem a jarrah
bench swells
welling against the tracks of
the planing machine
it wants its old shape back
behind surges a mighty house in
which a family happened
smitten with timber and sound it
survived the Jesus thing
smug as mud
and lets herbs and fowls through
the door to make more
there is no emptyness
but much where nothing is
Philip White
Mick'n'Robyn, above, Mick with Charlie Owen and The Large Number Twelves in his living room, below
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