Phil Brown -  journalist . writer . poet

Phil Brown

journalist . writer . poet

articles . books . poems


by Phil Brown


My garden is as cool as green jade
In the wet. Now it is bathed
In a dull and distant light
Cast by the city, late at night.

After the rain there comes a hush -
But soon I can hear cars rush,
Hissing along the highway again,
Splashing and slashing at the bitumen.

In the garden, time's clock croaks:
A drenched, glistening frog forsakes
Lush darkness for a friendly hop.
Seeing me it comes to a stop.

Dark mangos drip and droop above
Like old manhood, bereft of love.
A large fruitbat circles the verdant gloom,
Passing three times before the clouded moon

Before settling back into the tree
Which, crowning the yard, spreads immensely
Here amongst the blades, leaves, trunks and stones.
I am wet, refreshed and chilled to the bone.



by Phil Brown

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