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 October 2013

We Used to Walk

We used to walk here to this table
above the creek, take notebooks out
and pens of course, companionable,
we sat just here together, wrote

by trees and water: calm delight.
I see, returning to the spot,
it’s been repainted, this old table....
We used to walk

for twenty minutes, rest in quiet
right here beside the creek, and write.
Now here again alone, I’m able
to view the place at last — oh, sweet! —
we used to walk.

22 October 2013

Different Hemispheres

(a sedoka)

Autumn in the park —
a photo like a painting
of golden trees, calm water.

Even as I gaze,
in my country Spring bushfires
are spreading fast, and merging.

20 October 2013

Sekhmet (Small Statue)

Sekhmet is gold-skinned,
dressed in blue,
with bands of red and green
around her arms and neck.

Her dignified lion head
wears a black wig
down past her shoulders,

striped with gold lines
and neatly cut
straight across.

Crowning her head
is a lump of gold
shaped like a rearing cobra.

She sits, eye height,
beside my desk.
I am looking for a better,
more suitable spot.

But  perhaps not.
Here, we keep
good watch on each other.

This started out to be a'small stone', but it grew! Then I wrote the small stone.

18 October 2013

Seeking to Touch the Wind

I scry your face.
It is speaking mystery.
I listen like a lizard.

Shuffling my chair,
I tune in as to a dance —
one that cuts the air.

Would you clear this picture,
spread gravel over its lines?
Let me hold it, though it’s fragile as a leaf.

Submitted for Verse First ~ Half & Half, using a 'prescriptive' rather than inspirational construction.

10 October 2013

Why I Love Mary Oliver

It was her poem
about the shy, sweet creatures
who paused a moment
to look back at her
when she rounded a bend on her walk
and there they were.

It was the glimpse she noted
when they turned and fled —
that glint of horn
on each tossed head.

It’s her clarity
on what to do
with her ‘one wild and precious life’.

It’s the way
she looks closely, deeply, simply
at every pebble, puddle, cloud.

I walk around my world,
these few streets and parks,
trying to be her —

I take my camera.
It helps me see.
I take notebook and pen.
I pick up stones.
My words are clear, direct …
while hers are crystalline.

Submitted for Poets United's Verse First: Poets are Lovers (of other poets).