Fifty

By Terry Wilson

‘Don’t let papers, books and people be stacked,
Untidily,
And don’t let them fall over.’

The strange, fragile and beautiful link between people, their surroundings and inanimate objects speaks for itself in Terry Wilson’s first poetry publication, Fifty.

A compilation of fifty poems, Fifty hints at the keen sense of observation the poet holds. In his poems, regular day-to-day on-goings become important acts to derive lessons from, and he uses things of daily use to express his point. In Wilson’s world, the plants look up to him, dogs go about their business, lungs hang like suicide and the trees are made of salt and the ground of water.

Beautifully written, Wilson’s Fifty urges the reader to look around and see the extraordinary in the ordinary.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley
• Release date: Apr 25, 2018

Terry Wilson

Terry Wilson lives in Adelaide, South Australia. His previous books are Fifty, Natural, Fox Spirit and The Lane and Other Poems

Book preview

Terry Wilson was born in Adelaide, South Australia, in 1955 and still resides there.

Fifty is his first book of published poems.

Dedication

To Anne, Lucy and Alex

Terry Wilson

Fifty

Copyright © Terry Wilson (2018)

The right of Terry Wilson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781788233910 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781788233927 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781788233934 (E-Book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2018)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd™

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

A Cat or a Dog

Here was another man

With nothing left

No dog

Taking himself for a walk

He went from one tree to the next, tree to tree,

A way of measuring time

His watch has stopped

The sundial needs a new ghost

Trees are circles in rings

The swoosh of his loose pants

Is the second hand

He stops, refuses

And time stands still

No need even to fall over

There is a gap between properties, between fences

Of a few inches

An animal could flee in there

And not be able to get out, not turn around

Yet people sleep rough in there

Like old skins, blankets mound and hump in there

How they clear for snakes

Do they use a long pole with a hook on the end

Or a lasso

Or high whistling microphone

Distressing them up into the gutters?

A Soup

Eating with a spoon from a dish of lava

It keeps bubbling and refilling itself

A stone soup to fortify his ailing heart

Of course, the spoon begins to sag

Soon he will have to climb into the dish if he wants more

Climbers

In the living room

Miniature climbers see their route straight up the wall

A certain splay of brickwork catches the light and

Makes a track to the trained eye.

They are at the corner of the room

They get leverage there;

Though no snow

There is a depth of soft plaster,

Their crampons can get a proper hold.

At the top they bump against the ceiling

Which they take to be a layer of cloud.

They are hunched in a tight space

Though everything else the universe is vast