Words || John Watson 

‘Swimming when the bell strikes five’:

The bell shakes drops into the sea,
The fifth finds me, as ever, there.

Swallows like jets on swooping raids

Sky-larking in the pulsing air
“Make my head their conning tower.’

Then wasps in summer heat drop in
To sip sweet wine lees from the glass
‘And dip their feet in cooling waves.’

Dusk comes at last. The swallows nest.
The wasps have gone. The night still warm

‘I write until the bell strikes ten.’

He swan-dives round and through the page;

Wasp-like he harvests subtle lees.

He writes and writes in summer’s blaze.

 

About the author

John Watson is a Blue Mountains poet who, from time to time, consults with David’s co-authors. 

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