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')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). 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 blog posts as much as possible.

26 June 2010

June 26 2010

We celebrate Yule,
the full moon,
eclipse and Grand Cross.

My friends are feasting.
I’m alone
with my own magic.

I chose my own home
my garden,
my ways old but new.

Across town, my man
settles down
in his white sick-bed.

He shall recover.
One week gone
my old aunt left us.

I’ve scented the bath.
My new robe
is purple, hooded.

I shall go outside
take my wand
and gaze on Her face.

I’ll move to let go
the outworn
and invite the new.

Tonight we welcome
new healing
and a place of peace.

8 June 2010

When Tony Came Back

When Tony came back to Murwillumbah
visiting from his present home, Thailand,
decades after his hippy years here

all he wanted was our oldest café —
that downmarket place with the stale cakes
and the benches hard on your bottom.

We have alfresco dining now along every street,
cuisines both exotic and modern, French pastries
and very good coffee. But he craved nostalgia.

It used to be the only place in town, he said. (Long before
my time.) They’d come in from Nimbin, Kunghur or Uki
for non-organic cake and urban conversation.

That was when Byron Bay was a hamlet, and before
Tony packed up and left for Melbourne, disillusioned
with rural life. Now he lives in Bangkok, and is nostalgic.


I never ask about him.
The shadows begin to recede
and the silence becomes peaceful.

I am only a little curious now.
Perhaps it’s assumed I forget,
as I never ask about him.

I have not of course forgotten,
but I give him scant space in my mind
and the shadows begin to recede.

The love of family and friends
is a nourishment. So are the trees.
The silence becomes peaceful.

(A cascade poem, as seen on Poetic Asides)

5 June 2010

Three lunes

Purring pussycat
all night long
she sleeps in my arms.



On our verandah
butcher bird
sings to greet the sun.



She goes away,
wanders back for a look.
Already it’s changed.