I try to imagine taking my hips out there the upright the cold like an old piano off tune in the park my timber’s warped splintered and I feel my strings tugging too tight // too loose. The winter boughs clatter like castanets my beanied drums my ears my fog shrugged in a rolled up … Continue reading For him or for me?
The river rolls and whispers to me of gentle whorls and rhythms free this joyous ride, journey d’espirit to find the sea, to find the sea. But underneath this joie de vivre is tumbled sand and grinding scree, a world of strict conformity. No pebble’s free. No pebble’s free. Sharp edges worn over the years, … Continue reading The River
"A watched kettle never boils" (Proverb) When my schedule allows I like to stand my hand on the rumbling my eyes outside noting the way the rain drops cling to the wired grid of the cat yard roof. I'm reminded of Elon Musk how he's netting the Earth in satellites. While I debate space travel … Continue reading Give the Sky A Rest
Cockatoo river what murmur on the sleet silted breeze set wings to strobing silver and black against the thick grey goosedown sky? Your flock's stream arcs in muscular parallel with Earth's stretch until, elated I too throw arms wide to feel the joyous horizon. Written in response to whimsygizmo's dVerse Quadrille prompt 'your poem theme … Continue reading Sky Joy #dVerse quadrille
You were there. Like the cherry tree bare and new, tucked in with love and me, cluttered as birdsong, showing you everything wonderful before your eyes had cleared ** I walk now stubble-headed as the harvest field, looking one direction - seeing black and white the blue gum and the sulo bin carved out of … Continue reading Everything Wonderful
WARP Words piled up against walls, or words toppling under cubicle doors flat-packed words in fax machines, sifted through telephones, lined up in emails or upright in train queues with rucksacks and smiles. Open wounds - flesh and muscle words bubbling hearts and glowing cauldrons; words undid them, words unhid them, spilling beauty and bandages, … Continue reading WORDS
who is she? face like mine but aged in a tiny sudden way surprising as a pond - murky water turned mother of pearl a dance-floor for the sky time is a galaxy pinpointed and vast I find security counting frost hairs around a leaf; photographing rain drops in the puddles the trees swing deep … Continue reading reflections
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post about how frustrated I was with my attempts at photographing birds with my phone. I mentioned looking for a little camera I used to have. My lovely husband found it for me and charged the battery and I have had the pleasure of using it. It … Continue reading Birds!
The beginning: white paper - a rectangle of everywhere light, a thumbnail of summer’s bleached sky. After careful work scattered graphite shadows amorphous as breath on cold windows annotate the page. These jumbled greys cooperate / frame the paper’s light until from a catalogue of darknesses emerges a fluffy white dog
If one could choose a muse, wouldn’t human nature choose Tiddalik*, that greedy frog sucking all water (giver of life) to himself? Creativity is a gluttonous thing, always wanting feeding... This is what I have become - embittered like a dandelion head, seeds blown off in wind or child’s fancy. Brown and frayed and shucked … Continue reading On Muses
