I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world,
to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

Some of these poems are autobiographical, some are entirely fictional, and some are a mixture of both. The intention is art rather than self-expression. I don't allow factual details to get in the way of poetry! (I do seek emotional truth.) They are works in progress, and may be subject to revision without notice. Completed versions appear in my books. Nevertheless copyright applies to all texts found here. Copyright also applies to almost all photos posted here, most of which are my own, though a few are licensed under Creative Commons.
Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your posts as much as possible.
This month, June 2016, I'm a daily guest blogger at Project 365+1 and will be posting my poems in both places. It's a varied group of Aussie poets and artists; worth taking a look.

30 November 2007

Late night and white noise: haiku and things for November 2007


I'm hot. The creek's high.
My first swim of the season.
Ouch! Icy water.


Over in Texas
my friend's dog has gone missing.
I hug my cats close.


Late night and white noise
pouring from the computer
covers my loud thoughts.

I watch the World Clock
as the days keep going past.
Morning, night, morning.

From across the world
from inside a long silence
is a wolf howling?


Already morning.
A night of peaceful silence
dreaming of haiku.


Tomorrow morning
may we wake from our long night
into bright new dawn!

(A reference to the Federal Elections in Australia. The dawn was bright!)

© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2007

3 November 2007

Commencing the Journey to Ixtlan

I have no intention nor wish
to turn back –
though I was some way down the track
before I even realised
I had already set out.

The inexorable steps are blurred:
a series of unremarked, ordinary moments.

Calling with your pale mouth,
you have become
a phantom by the roadside.

At times you still seem real.
Then the eagerness
with which you offer me food
or point what you say is the way
reveals you to me.

You are no true guide;
I must not trust you.

The path is solitary, unfamiliar.
I don’t know where it will take me.
Lonely, I have no regrets.

Inspired partly by the writings of Carlos Castaneda, in a metaphorical way.

An old piece, as you see, about an old situation — 
newly submitted (29 May 2013) for Poets United's Verse First: The Function of Freedom