A Prayer for Bad Weather

It rumbles again, 

thundering –

the air out there,

the malevolent sky.

Thundering,

please make rain

for my unsoaked flowers.

The air out there

is hot and heavy.

Yesterday I rain-danced.

The malevolent sky

released two tiny, stinging drops,

no more. Oh, stop teasing!

Why I Can't Write About Cooking

Well you see, 

I’m not much of a cook.

I have little patience:

can't do games of chess or recipes.

I’m not much of a cook

except when it comes to the simple –

omelettes, fried mushrooms, grilled fish….

I have little patience

for weighing and mixing and waiting

for the oven to work its measured magic.

Can't do games of chess, or recipes.

The ingredients – rare spices, self-control –

are far too exotic for me; I don’t stock them.

The current Mini-Challenge at 'imaginary garden with real toads' is Cooking Up a Storm. This is not the luscious, foody poem requested! I call myself a 'non-cook'. But it was another opportunity to practise the trimeric, as I am doing this month. (I am breaking rules all over the place. We were asked to write a poem of four tercets, and in a trimeric the first verse has one line more – but it comes very close, so I hope I can get away with it.) PS I know how to play chess, but I always want to play it like Chinese Checkers.

Reaching Beyond

Softly calling

across hilltops

oceans and skies:

the memories.

Across hilltops

as on bird wings –

hear them flutter.

Oceans and skies

ripple with white –

wave tips and clouds.

The memories,

evanescent,

hint and linger.

Thunder

rumbles

far off

I hope

for rain

far off

briefly

fading

I hope

the plants

will live

for rain

refrains

from fall

I had a fancy to try a trimeric with very short lines.

Linking to Gillena's Monday WRites

Crowded House Live on the Opera House Steps

In my living room

I who think I have no beat

tap my feet, my hands drum.

I who think I am tuneless hum along.

I who think I have no beat

sway in time, nod my head, see on TV

the live audience nodding in unison.

Tap my feet, my hands drum,

I'm right out of body-consciousness now,

I'm more in my body than I've ever been.

I who think I am tuneless hum along.

Lights throb, smoke billows, Nick dances.

On stage and off, the melodies rise and fall.

Linking to the Tuesday Platform for 18/4/17 at 'imaginary garden with real toads'. (Day 18 of April Poetry Month 2017)

The Peaceful Place

I will go to Kouranga

perhaps for the last time,

to look out over the trees,

the lawns, the hills, the water.

Perhaps for the last time

I'll sit with my friends 

in this house they made,

to look out over the trees

from their wide veranda. Perhaps 

we'll see the wallabies feeding.

The lawns, the hills, the water

and the gardens, all flowering now,

remain certain: an oasis I carry within.

(My friends are moving soon.)

Linked to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #333

Three Magic Wands

My three wands are magical indeed.

The first was made years ago, by my friend Nedz;

the second was bestowed by Tess and the Universe;

Letitia is now creating my third, which has a special purpose.

The first was made years ago, by my friend Nedz.

She channelled it, using spiral wood that she found 

in the bush and polished, and two amethysts.

The second was bestowed by Tess and the Universe. 

I dreamed of a laser, as wand and athame both. Tess

took me to choose crystals; there was a wand with laser tip ...

Letitia is now creating my third, which has a special purpose.

She has found what is perfect for me in stick and stone.

She will magic it for 'happiness and pure joy'.

How Fortunate, Dear Readers

How fortunate, dear readers, that you enjoy 

all these poems about my garden and my cat.

They are likely to keep right on coming.

My obsessions nowadays are quiet, insular.

All these poems about my garden and my cat

connect me to earthy, practical ways of being. 

Otherwise I might fly off, disappear into dreams.

They are likely to keep right on coming,

the dreams and flights – but so are the frangipani,

the red geraniums, my cat's games and her hungers.

My obsessions nowadays are quiet, insular.

After all, I grew up on an island; and I carry quiet

within me, an interior island of words, of poetry.


Linking to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #331

Take a Breath

Imagine a star,

high and golden.

From each point, light 

radiates out, focuses in

on our world … 

this country … 

this town …

into this very room –

into you, filling you,

filling your heart. 

Breathe it in deeply!

Now, from our hearts,

we send forth
light.

For Quadrille #21 – Take a Breath, at dVerse

Dear Love

Dear love,

when you left me

you did not leave me.

Now I am bound to my house,

where your voice 

murmurs from corners

and sometimes I look up

to catch your face,

your same old smile.

Dear love.

Written in response to The Cross-roads ~ Micro Poetry at 'imaginary garden with real toads'.

Restorative

A couple of days of rain.

My jade plant straightens and grows taller.

The rosebush reaches higher, stretches wider.

The gardenia pours forth bloom after bloom.

My jade plant straightens and grows taller.

Its flat round jewels of leaves

glow greener in the sunlight.

The rosebush reaches higher, stretches wider,

looks renewed. Aged and tired in winter,

now it’s a vigorous youngster again.

The gardenia pours forth bloom after bloom

in purest white, stark yet soft, and the perfume
is seduction, is food, is transcendent heaven.