New Moon Ritual at the House on the Hill

We are dancing in a circle on the grass. We  are holding coloured scarves. 'Let the colours choose you,' our leader said as she passed the basket around. When the basket came to me, the golden one was on top. Our scarves are as large as tablecloths but fine and filmy, undulating in the evening air. We hold them by the top corners, letting the other edge fall and dangle. As we dance to the centre we flutter them up. As we dance to the rim we sweep them down to the ground. The night is still light when we begin. By the time we are finished, the dark has come. Over the starlit grass we inhale the scent of roses.

Submitted for dVerse Form for All: Prose/Poetry

NaHaiWriMo Jan. 2014

Writing to prompts posted at the NaHaiWriMo site on facebook
(the prompt word did not have to be included in the haiku but was meant to inspire)

1: ascension

the basketball

springs from the small boy's hands

guided by the father

***********

Airborne

I love take-off,

that sharp tilt and climb

to lose the ground

I love flight 

up through foggy cloud

into endless blue

2: abyss

light-headed

I seem to swirl and fall

staying upright

3: art/artists

possum-skin cloaks

elders and children create

remembering

(Bunjilaka exhibition, Museum Victoria)

4: azaleas

travelling north

our only regret 

the azaleas he planted

5: abbey

weathered sandstone

this peaceful old church

built by convicts

6: adrift

glassy sea

the bare-masted yacht

rests

7: amber

summer sunset

trees and water

radiate light

8: absinthe

bright green

they dance in the light

my bling things

9: Adam 

laughing talking

dining with my friend

my stepson

10: anatomy

slow lizard

on splayed legs

no rain yet

11: admission

January

heat enters 

closed doors

12: apocalypse

darkness

the bush fires

still burn

13: addiction

summer night

I remember

the child he was

14: acorn

strange seed

taking root in our soil

grows alone

15: Apartheid

apart

we hide from each other

ourselves

16:  absent

your absence

is never absent

from my thoughts

17: ambiguous

grey clouds

mass in the sky

without rain

18: angel

I tremble

as the aweful voice says,

‘Have no fear’.

19: appreciation

the child blows away

the feather I give her

laughing for joy

20: arithmetic 

one and one make two

two made one that was three

till my brother came

21: abandon

high summer

the cat by the fan

legs in air

22. Aphrodite

Spring morning

an empty shell

lands on the sand

23. answered/unanswered

laughing loudly

into the silence

one kookaburra

24. ache

heated pool

I float

without pain

25. apparition

since you died

wandering pointlessly

I’m ghost

26 after the storm

dripping leaves

a chorus of sparrows

clearing rain

27 alchemy (the transformation of a substance of lesser 

value into one of greater value, e.g., straw into gold). 

heavy rain

at last a bud

on the rosebush

28 apology

Australia Day

can we make the word Sorry

mean something?

29 absolution

too tired 

for unforgiveness

falling rain

30 alternative

to rise 

or fall?

sleepless night

31 afterlife

(for Pete Seeger)

at rest

in art and song

eternal life

Good news - editorial

Bruce Niedt and I were just named runners up in the Poetic Asides Somonka challenge, for the second of two collaborative efforts posted here.

Details of winners and top 10 are here.

All the entries — all a delight to read — can be found here.

Getting Re-acquainted

I had forgotten

crowded Melbourne trains,

but I'm ushered to a seat

for 'special needs'

by a smiling, standing passenger.

(I'm elderly, with luggage.)

Through bits of windows between heads

I see thick bushes, agapanthus blooms

and colourful walls of graffiti.

Middle-aged men stand reading their phones.

There's a loud buzz of conversations

all up and down the carriage.

Many men are wearing hats.

The day is very hot.

My sun-hat's in my bag for now.

I try to read the names of stations

through the crush whenever we stop,

sometimes succeed.

When we get to the city,

my destination,

everyone will pour out.

No, they pile out at Richmond

wearing baggy shorts 

and toting drink bags.

Then I know,

this is the cricket crowd.

I stay on board

for one more station

with the quiet and hatless few remaining 

in a compartment suddenly spacious.


Submitted, 9 Feb. 2014, for dVerse Poetics — Sketchbook / in-the-moment poetry