new zealand electronic poetry centre


Bob Orr

online works

Pablo Neruda

No one forced his heart to believe
the blue curve of oceans
the clouds that whitewashed the heavens.
His mouth spicy with poems –
on Isla Negra
he preferred the company of salty trees
and old ships’ anchors.
The woman he loved like a living guitar
slim mysterious and dreaming
she wore the silver that he mined from the moon.
Thinking of Pablo Neruda
I go out walking
a sailor’s song upon my tongue
my arm around a ghost
                                                          in Chile

© Bob Orr

Last updated 11 May 2001