Thursday, March 27, 2025

GAS Featured Poet: Doug Jacquier


 Doug Jacquier writes from the Fleurieu Peninsula in South Australia. His works of fiction, nonfiction and poetry have been published in the US, UK, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and India. He blogs at https://sixcrookedhighways.com/ and is the editor of the humour site, Witcraft, as well as the short story site Who Let The Stories Out?.


This day, it begins to rain

 

Our harvesters are rusting in sagging sheds, 

unable to reap our imagined crops

when we try force the utmost 

from nothing.

 

But this day, it begins to rain. 

The rain comes in sideways, 

driven by the same scouring winds 

that delivered new dust to us 

and sent our own on a journey 

elsewhere.

 

Rain enough to drown our despair 

at fly-blown carcasses in the paddocks 

and ancient trees falling 

like matchsticks. 

 

This day, that it begins to rain,

brings shock,

a burning stimulus,

in motion, 

along our nervous systems.

 

It brings healing,

finding that fluttering life muscle

behind our dead eyes,

and palpates gently

until hope’s heartbeat returns.


 

In excelsis

 

Patti, the Horses-faced harbinger of rock,

who was a girl named Johnny

who said let's dream it, we'll dream it for free, Free Money

who kept Mapplethorpe and Shepard a-muse-d

who birthed children and watched men die too young.

who wrote with Springsteen ‘Because the Night’ said so, 

who lost the plot to ‘Hard Rain’ singing Bob at the Nobels.

Jesus died for somebody's sins but not hers
People say "beware!" but I don't care 

the words are just rules and regulations to me

and her name is, and her name is, and her name is

G-L-O-R-I-I-I-I-A

in excelsis day-o.

 


Moving Memories

 

Memories,

carefully dusted off and swathed,

packed in the boxes

along with the more trivial possessions.

Like the apocryphal cat

they can’t be left behind.

Some you will unpack immediately upon arrival

as handy conversation pieces when old friends call.

Some will remain encased

with only an occasional furtive private inspection

to check for silverfish and mildew.

And some will be ‘forgotten’,

but will only feign death

and, like ancient terracotta soldiers,

will wait in infinite patience

ready to ambush the present.


 

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