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?
"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
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!
Oh little worm I cry for you, a brave blue collar hero in the machinery of life. You can’t know that tiny, iridescent spheres of deadly plastic are concealed in the soil you eat so conscientiously and you may not know that your little life keeps the lungs of our planet-body healthy and fit. Oh … Continue reading Machinery of Life
arriving here I stand awed at rows of violins the smells of timber and rosin and a young grandfather in a cardigan with horsehair on his workbench he handles your cello familiarly and sends us for a walk "the light might be good" he says and we head "to the end of the road" where … Continue reading How it was…
In the morning, after shutting the gate (to keep the chooks in), I turned around to see a handsome king parrot land in a shaft of weak eastern sunlight on one of the bare boughs of our pear tree. He chirruped softly and I chirruped back. He cocked a curious head down at me. I … Continue reading Photo Phrustration
my grandmother drank her coffee black her eyelids closed to the morning's glare and the impossible barrage of birdsong on her deck you were among the branches and the flitting and the shards of mosaic sky rosellas in red profusion screeched, begging for seeds perhaps, or just yelling about the next train to Central as … Continue reading It’s what you can’t see…
the Romans feathered helmets erect learned the sterility of war their Empire's wondrous landmarks became punctuation in history's soil their roads crossed continents in massive webs their confidence still glimmers in ancient armour and upturned pillars but now, we're in dress-rehearsal writing history our age split asunder by tablets lit with green-glowing back-turned candles - … Continue reading Different Century, Same…?