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.

9 April 2017

Here

'Would you like a holiday?' someone asked. I said, 'My life is a holiday.'

My retreat is on top of a small hill. I am
on the high side of the slope, with steps up
to my front door. I can look out from there
across to deep blue mountains,
over the wide roofs of my neighbours,
and to a stretch of changeable sky.
Even when stormy, it's thrilling.

If I step out on to the quiet street
I see the greatest mountain, which Captain Cook
called Mt Warning because he saw its peak
first of all when his ships approached this coast –
this, in many ways, unsuspected coast,
still keeping ancient secrets
that only some are allowed to know.

Nearby are creeks, rainforests, wetlands, and 
winding rivers. Every time I drive by the Tweed 
when the sun is shining expansively as if forever, 
I say to myself again, 'Why would anyone ever want 
to live anywhere else?' And when I pass
the little tidal creek-mouth at Hastings Point,
I rejoice to see, in three seasons, bright children play.

I grew up far south, in a small town on a river,
a hilly town surrounded by deep blue mountains
and not too far from a variable coast
that still makes my heart lift in silent song
to see again, or simply remember. But oh, the winters
were cruel cold. Decades later, I find a home
that echoes my birthplace and adds warmth.

This small town has been badly flooded of late.
Some people drowned, many lost all they had.
(Nowhere is perfect.) I on my hill was safe,
but I ache for some of my friends. Still I bless,
as we all do, the warm community spirit: the many
who instantly, freely volunteered help for need. 
In good times and bad, this is a place of friends.












Mt Warning, aka Wollumbin

At 'imaginary garden with real toads' the prompt for Day 8 of April Poetry Month is Hope and the Places That Heal You, in which we are invited to write about landscapes we love, which replenish us.

14 comments:

  1. Can I come live with you? It sounds pretty close to perfect to me.

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  2. Would move, but:
    1. Services for the lad
    2 Need to be Grandma on call a while longer
    3 Convincing the boys
    4. Super hot summers
    5. Nearest coastal town?

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    1. 5. Cabarita/Bogangar, Pottsville, Kingscliff ... and only a little further, Tweed Heads or Byron Bay. (But 1-4 seem insurmountable.)

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  3. It sounds heavenly, Rosemary. It is how I feel about Tofino. We are so lucky.

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  4. it's good to love where you are ~

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  5. Diane Groothuis9 April 2017 at 18:14

    Loved it

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  6. sounds like a place that is easy to love

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  7. Blessings on all the holidays and every day on your hillside home! I enjoyed this poem, its height and breadth
    .

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  8. Such beautiful views and beautiful hearts where you live.

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  9. Your life seems truly blessed.

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  10. Oh this is soo beautiful!! It's truly a blissful picture which you have painted here ❤️

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  11. Home is different for us all and yet pretty much the same in spirit. Lovely descriptions Rosemary

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  12. Thank you for this wonderful visit into heaven. Your haven on a hill.

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