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.

20 September 2011

My Locale

At present it’s rather surreal.
The haze from yesterday,
only a little thinner,
continues to every horizon
and, we know, beyond.
The coppery sun, setting,
glows weakly through the veil.

We’re heading into fire season
with signs of a long dry.
We know that, further north,
the burning off is right
that caused this cloud.
A worse hangs over us
if we leave the grasses lush.

I live in a small town
near a large mountain
shaped like a brush turkey
or the profile of a warrior’s head.
We are surrounded by canefields, 
banana plantations, some dairy farms
and the hidden illegal crops.

The wide slow river
fills to its banks often
and sometimes floods.
In winter the cupboards 
fill up with mould.
Brown snakes every summer 
encroach on suburban paths.

There are places 
close to the mountain
where the energy is so strong
few can live there with ease.
(The mountain is full of crystals.)
At night we sit out on our verandas
watching the UFOs streak the sky.

No, we are not fond of strangers.
This area used to be
Australia’s best kept secret.
Now it’s over-populated.
Well yes, it may be true
that I haven’t told you everything.
The bottom line is: Stay away!

30 Poems in 30 Days: 18, Your city, town, locale.