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by Rohan Buettel

Such a radical in your youth, always set
on changing the world, you take a set


against those who cannot move with the times
and yet, with each passing year you become more set


in your ways, less able to keep up
with new developments, you have been set


in your place by the decay of a mind
running down, unable to learn, as if set


in a fixed state, wobbly and unreflective,
your brain warm milk allowed to ferment and set,


become curd, a grey pudding, a junket, a jelly
lacking substance, your table now set


with crockery, cutlery and glassware before the cloth
is pulled from underneath, the stage set


with the props and scenery for another performance
of sound and fury, signifying the set


of arctic winds, ferociously driving all before.
Grief will come to the clipper ship, sails set


for a fast passage between worlds, old and new,
and places in between, the universal set


for the writer who creates an empire of words
on which they hope the sun will never set.

Rohan Buettel lives in Canberra, Australia. His haiku appear in various Australian and international journals (including Presence, Cattails and The Heron’s Nest). His longer poetry appears in more than fifty journals, including The Goodlife Review, Rappahannock Review, Penumbra Literary and Art Journal, Passengers Journal, Reed Magazine, Meniscus and Quadrant.

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