Gold moon
low and bright,
with the curved shadow
halfway across.
We didn’t wait
out in the cold.
It was so quick,
when we looked again
the moon was bright white
high and full.
Today the first image
still floats in my mind.
22 December 2010
19 December 2010
Sweet Chili Calamari Stir Fry
It was a quiet taste but with character
like the way my favourite teacher
used to speak: quite softly
yet with authority.
It was a sustained flavour too,
as if the teacher’s voice
had explained at length
and completely.
The aftertaste lingered
subtle as a whisper,
like understanding
coming bit by bit.
At last it was only
remembered
in the mind,
like a song.
10/9/10
I just came across this in my 'Working on' folder and decided it's fine as is. It was inspired by a prompt, which I can't now find the source of, to describe one sense in terms of another. The shape of the poem on the page is my own idea, illustrating visually (a third sense!) the 'fading away' progression in the other senses mentioned.
I include the date of writing as it's posted so long after.
like the way my favourite teacher
used to speak: quite softly
yet with authority.
It was a sustained flavour too,
as if the teacher’s voice
had explained at length
and completely.
The aftertaste lingered
subtle as a whisper,
like understanding
coming bit by bit.
At last it was only
remembered
in the mind,
like a song.
10/9/10
I just came across this in my 'Working on' folder and decided it's fine as is. It was inspired by a prompt, which I can't now find the source of, to describe one sense in terms of another. The shape of the poem on the page is my own idea, illustrating visually (a third sense!) the 'fading away' progression in the other senses mentioned.
I include the date of writing as it's posted so long after.
2 December 2010
Dawning excitement: November tanka/gogyohka
Two gogyohka:
Sunny morning.
I open the blinds
just enough.
The street is quiet,
the garden shines.
********************
Melbourne Cup Day:
dawning excitement.
The winner will be
the best horse —
so you think.
2/11/10
The hill top
is full of flowers
after rain.
I climb skyward
in scented air.
9/11/10
quiet drive
after the meeting
empty roads
warm soft darkness
and my man waiting
15/11/10
My rose blooms again,
one flower on the long stem.
Spring is really here.
I miss the kookaburras,
not seen these past rainy weeks.
****************
In this Caldera
white ibis wander freely
parading the streets,
decorating trees en masse —
reminders of my friend Thoth.
23/11/10
Spring rain.
My herb garden
spills over:
white flowers
on the lawn.
30/11/10
Sunny morning.
I open the blinds
just enough.
The street is quiet,
the garden shines.
********************
Melbourne Cup Day:
dawning excitement.
The winner will be
the best horse —
so you think.
2/11/10
The hill top
is full of flowers
after rain.
I climb skyward
in scented air.
9/11/10
quiet drive
after the meeting
empty roads
warm soft darkness
and my man waiting
15/11/10
My rose blooms again,
one flower on the long stem.
Spring is really here.
I miss the kookaburras,
not seen these past rainy weeks.
****************
In this Caldera
white ibis wander freely
parading the streets,
decorating trees en masse —
reminders of my friend Thoth.
23/11/10
Spring rain.
My herb garden
spills over:
white flowers
on the lawn.
30/11/10
1 December 2010
Learning
What did I learn?
Perhaps that we don’t learn —
killing the things we love.
My stepdaughter visited Kuta
just last week. Gentle people,
she remarks, but expensive taxis!
‘No bemos?’ I ask. (Little buses.)
In my day they were everywhere.
She never even heard the word.
‘Wish I’d known you were going,’ I say,
‘I need some new sarongs.
The ones I bought in ‘73
have finally all worn out.’ ‘Oh!’
she says, pleased, ‘I got you one!’
That’s one thing I learned from Bali:
in summer I live in sarongs
(thirty-seven summers now).
I open the paper and read of a man
who fell in love, as I did, with the place,
in 1983 when (a few years late for me)
you could build a home there,
live there — and he did.
It was the spiritual world
and the aesthetics which drew him:
‘the offerings in the homes,
the stonework in the temples ...
being part of community,
and answerable to the gods.’
Never mind the shops and tourism,
he says. The real life of Bali remains
resilient. That I am glad to learn!
Note: Last three verses refer to an article
in The Sydney Morning Herald News Review
Nov. 27-28 2010: A new life in the lap of the gods.
November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2010: 30
Prompt: lessons learned and/or lessons not learned.
Perhaps that we don’t learn —
killing the things we love.
My stepdaughter visited Kuta
just last week. Gentle people,
she remarks, but expensive taxis!
‘No bemos?’ I ask. (Little buses.)
In my day they were everywhere.
She never even heard the word.
‘Wish I’d known you were going,’ I say,
‘I need some new sarongs.
The ones I bought in ‘73
have finally all worn out.’ ‘Oh!’
she says, pleased, ‘I got you one!’
That’s one thing I learned from Bali:
in summer I live in sarongs
(thirty-seven summers now).
I open the paper and read of a man
who fell in love, as I did, with the place,
in 1983 when (a few years late for me)
you could build a home there,
live there — and he did.
It was the spiritual world
and the aesthetics which drew him:
‘the offerings in the homes,
the stonework in the temples ...
being part of community,
and answerable to the gods.’
Never mind the shops and tourism,
he says. The real life of Bali remains
resilient. That I am glad to learn!
Note: Last three verses refer to an article
in The Sydney Morning Herald News Review
Nov. 27-28 2010: A new life in the lap of the gods.
November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2010: 30
Prompt: lessons learned and/or lessons not learned.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)