Ross Clark is an Australian poet.
Father of a friend.
He haunts my mind with images and a sense of loss.
We will probably never meet yet I know him.
For, from different causes, I saw myself when reading his words;
“The big men proclaim ‘black dog’ and
we all know what they mean, but my landlord
does not permit me pets”
Perhaps, one day, I will find the skill to create happily although I may be running out of days. I no longer have half a century to write the Australian masterpiece.
I shall continue to write my follies under the gaze of that dread black dog. It is a comfortably unproductive life at the moment as he is off chasing other prey. Frustrating, though. I have ideas, feelings, urges, yet need the return of that vicious hound to help me sort the syllables.
For the moment, my staid self-censoring landlord will not permit me my necessary pets.
I do not even have my well-thumbed Omah Khayyam with me.