Poignant Reminder

 

It’s still here

hasn’t changed really…

 

I imagine

familiar carpet     curtains

pull-down light     over dining table

but sense     the energy

is different     now

 

New people     live

in these rooms

 

I wonder

at the brand of love    that bounces

off the walls     penetrates

their hearts

 

and remember

time     spent here

struggling for air     choking

with confusion

 

and know     the decision

to leave     saved my life.

 

c. Kathryn Coughran

 

Highly Commended: 2005 Joan Johnson Poetry Award (Kathryn Andersen)

 

Yin & Yang

For Ashlee – 22.08.1991-12.09.2013 

 

Twelve inch thongs on three inch feet

left on right     right on left

four small toes fitting neatly

in the space of one adult big toe…

you strut about the house

chin held high

golden curls flowing to your waist.

 

You snatch your brother’s toy

while Mum’s back is turned

smile in glee as you watch him punished

for trying to get it back.

 

‘Mine!’ you screech

when your empty cup is removed from the table

or if someone should hold an item you want.

 

‘No, not!  Tell my Daddy, you!’ you pout

when unable to have your way.

 

You insist on calling David ‘Dave’

announce ‘Dave, you’re Grandmum, right?’

and ‘Grandmum, you’re Dave’

then proceed to address us

by each other’s name

for as long as it suits you.

 

Contrary to the core

a storehouse of limitless energy

you fill the room with your presence…

 

as you do      when you sit

on your mother’s lap

look intently into her eyes 

or

walk hand in hand with big brother

exploring flowers and butterflies

and when you

lie quietly with baby    tenderly stroking

his tiny limbs

or

when you sing to Dolly

as you tuck her into bed

 

and most treasured of all

 

when you bounce into my room

angelic face framed by silken hair

eyes sparkling beneath long lashes

excited smile exuding from young lips

 

softness      softness      everywhere…

 

c. Kathryn Coughran

 

First published: 1994 in Family Matters (Kathryn Andersen)

Also: 2017 on Scriggler – https://scriggler.com/DetailPost/Poetry/45331

 

Poison Tongues

‘A’ says something to ‘B’ about ‘C’.

‘B’ agrees, and adds a little.

Her fire fuelled, ‘A’ contributes again.

Hyped, ‘B’ continues

making it up as she goes.

 

Reaction… leads to reaction…

leads to reaction…

 

A fact, taken out of context

twisted and distorted with jealousy,

is moulded

until the meaning has changed.

 

‘B’ can’t wait to tell ‘C’ what ‘A’ has said.

‘A’ soon takes her opportunity

to report to ‘C’

that ‘B’ has been tale-telling.

 

Both ‘A’ and ‘B’ believe

they have spoken the truth:

each has shared their reality

even if maliciously…

 

and the truth lies

somewhere in between.

 

 c. Kathryn Coughran

 

First published: 1993 in Live At Don Bank – Live Poets’ Society Anthology  

Also: 1994 in Family Matters (Kathryn Andersen)

Also: 2017 on Scriggler – https://scriggler.com/DetailPost/Poetry/113005

 

 

Nipped In The Bud

Wedged        in a bed of snow

against a backdrop of bricks

the headstones        stand in rows

like the teeth of an old man

with gingivitis.

 

Not the graves of soldiers       

taken in battle

as first glimpse would suggest

but

fifteen hundred children

of Sarajevo

ripped        from the future.

 

 c. Kathryn Coughran

 

First published: 1994 in Family Matters (Kathryn Andersen)

Best Poem Of The Night: Penrith Sailing Club Readings 1998…

…Chosen by a scout from The Joan Sutherland Centre

 

From My Window

I     Simple beauty meets the eye…

a still, but ever-changing landscape

shades and shadows shifting

with the sun.

 

Morning fog obscures detail

across the valley.

 

Mist rises from dam

nestled amid rolling green

fodder for cows that wander there

a few times each week.

 

An orb of earth-sodden roots

of a fallen tree       on distant hillside

blends in       until

reflection takes it

through the spectrum

of yellows and gold

to burnt orange.

 

Night draws the shutters

and bathes the hills

in moonlight.

 

 

II    Closer in       by day

galahs       parrots       peewees

forage for worms and seeds    

in freshly cut grass

and magpies       drift

around the yard.

 

Their baby visits me     

perches on the clothes line

and       sings his hallowed tune.

 

I talk to him       from my window.

 

…Sometimes…

he brings his mother

to sit beside him

and check me out.

 

 

III   In the evenings

small brown frogs

graze on white moths

that flutter       against the glass

drawn by the light.

 

They wait patiently

for their prey

grey bellies and suction toes

visible from inside.

 

Freddie and Freida

we call them…

Soon a third appears

a baby

Freddo or Francine

we joke.

 

We leave the light

on for them      until

bedtime       so they

can have their fill

but

they are gone

in the stillness of the morning

when

simple beauty       once more

meets the eye.

 

 c. Kathryn Coughran  April 2016

 

First published: December 2016 in The Triangle

Also: 2017 on Scriggler – https://scriggler.com/DetailPost/Poetry/54336

… Scriggler Publication of the Day – 22nd March 2017 …