2/1/09
The new year began
with many bangs: thunder here,
fireworks round the world.
On the second day,
at last after stormy heat
a cool, gentle rain.
9/1/09
Rain and a cold wind.
Today's mournful whine: 'Oh
nine, oh one, oh nine'.
Americans may reverse last line to 'one, oh nine, oh nine'. (It's a sound thing.)
16/1/09
On a quiet night
I remember the blue creek
swollen by king tides.
17/1/09
Blood and medals
The private soldier
is friend, relative, colleague ...
made public in death.
The VC winner declares:
"Out there, we are all heroes."
*******************************
The weather changes.
The sky and the creek turn grey.
I lose my wallet.
19/1/09
Still, at 69,
she dreams of Easy Rider.
Those Harleys. The wind.
Comment from my friend Lorenzo:
Maybe a scooter?
I see you on a vespa...
Cruising down the street :)
20/1/09
And my reply:
Such a tempting thought:
elderly insouciance
scooter-cruising – but
Vespas are city transport,
not seen around these ranges.
30 January 2009
Hey, Crow
‘Hey, Crow,’
I say in my mind
and he flips up into the air
just before a truck
rounds the bend, huge
on the early morning road.
He is all points: beak,
opening wing-tips, tail
and splayed claws
on dangling legs;
jagged, ragged black
lifting calm and quick.
Then we are past
and the mist
thickens down the valley,
swathes of smoky cloud
filling all hollows except
the bright path we travel.
‘What’s all this light?’ I ask,
‘Look how the sun shines!’
The fog around us towers,
spills up surrounding hills.
Between, our sky is a channel
radiant blue. From high,
one barking laugh.
Published in OCHO #24 (the poets-on-twitter edition – after a few years, no longer available to read in issuu, sadly, but can be bought as a book: see my right side-bar)
In May 2016, linked to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #304
I say in my mind
and he flips up into the air
just before a truck
rounds the bend, huge
on the early morning road.
He is all points: beak,
opening wing-tips, tail
and splayed claws
on dangling legs;
jagged, ragged black
lifting calm and quick.
Then we are past
and the mist
thickens down the valley,
swathes of smoky cloud
filling all hollows except
the bright path we travel.
‘What’s all this light?’ I ask,
‘Look how the sun shines!’
The fog around us towers,
spills up surrounding hills.
Between, our sky is a channel
radiant blue. From high,
one barking laugh.
Published in OCHO #24 (the poets-on-twitter edition – after a few years, no longer available to read in issuu, sadly, but can be bought as a book: see my right side-bar)
In May 2016, linked to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #304
4 January 2009
Skinny
At last I begin to see
what people have told me
all my life: I have
unusually fine skin
and it’s beautiful.
‘Like a baby,’ said Istiarini
that woman in Bali who,
in love with my husband Bill,
gave me a facial to impress him
and perhaps to placate me. Not
that either was necessary; she
had already won him (briefly).
And Graeme, my lover
in my thirties, said it:
‘I’ve always thought
you have a beautiful skin.’
Which surprised me, I never
viewed it as an asset.
Kellie now, who became
wife to my son David, hers
is beautiful skin – creamy
against the dark
sheen of her hair and
those great big, luminous eyes.
It looks as if the texture
is almost waxy, but
I suppose it must be soft.
Unblemished skin.
Not like mine
covered in tiny freckles
and the insect bites
that turn into welts
and then scabs.
All the stinging insects
love my sweet blood,
sucking it easily through
my very fine skin.
And pale too, always
embarrassing in this land
of suntanned bodies. I
burn, which is painful
and dangerous, therefore I stay
chalk-white for years;
how eccentric.
So I have always thought,
yet today I notice
my breasts are like snow
as I look down on them,
snowy mounds
that I stroke very gently
with fingertips,
not to bruise or redden
their fine, impossibly fine
skin, even finer than
close-woven lawn
or than silk, though not
silk-slippery, just
perfectly smooth.
Not hard at all but not
unduly soft, more plump
as when I pat my face
my cheeks are too:
as if underneath the skin
is firm, fleshy fruit
only just ripened, that gives
to the touch, then bounces
back into place, into shape,
with the spring of youth.
Amazing!
What fruit?
Apples are firm
but not so giving.
A pear on the other hand
is not resilient, would squash.
Perhaps a peach? Too juicy.
An apricot or a plum?
Apricot, yes,
for the flesh – but not even
the skin of a soft apricot
is so fine as my skin
or so smooth. Not even
the skin of a plum.
what people have told me
all my life: I have
unusually fine skin
and it’s beautiful.
‘Like a baby,’ said Istiarini
that woman in Bali who,
in love with my husband Bill,
gave me a facial to impress him
and perhaps to placate me. Not
that either was necessary; she
had already won him (briefly).
And Graeme, my lover
in my thirties, said it:
‘I’ve always thought
you have a beautiful skin.’
Which surprised me, I never
viewed it as an asset.
Kellie now, who became
wife to my son David, hers
is beautiful skin – creamy
against the dark
sheen of her hair and
those great big, luminous eyes.
It looks as if the texture
is almost waxy, but
I suppose it must be soft.
Unblemished skin.
Not like mine
covered in tiny freckles
and the insect bites
that turn into welts
and then scabs.
All the stinging insects
love my sweet blood,
sucking it easily through
my very fine skin.
And pale too, always
embarrassing in this land
of suntanned bodies. I
burn, which is painful
and dangerous, therefore I stay
chalk-white for years;
how eccentric.
So I have always thought,
yet today I notice
my breasts are like snow
as I look down on them,
snowy mounds
that I stroke very gently
with fingertips,
not to bruise or redden
their fine, impossibly fine
skin, even finer than
close-woven lawn
or than silk, though not
silk-slippery, just
perfectly smooth.
Not hard at all but not
unduly soft, more plump
as when I pat my face
my cheeks are too:
as if underneath the skin
is firm, fleshy fruit
only just ripened, that gives
to the touch, then bounces
back into place, into shape,
with the spring of youth.
Amazing!
What fruit?
Apples are firm
but not so giving.
A pear on the other hand
is not resilient, would squash.
Perhaps a peach? Too juicy.
An apricot or a plum?
Apricot, yes,
for the flesh – but not even
the skin of a soft apricot
is so fine as my skin
or so smooth. Not even
the skin of a plum.
31 December 2008
Hot in Australia: haiku and things for December 2008
5/12/08
Christmas is coming.
It’s hot in Australia,
swimming weather – yay!
(I think we better call this one a senryu.)
A friend commented:
Morning dark and damp.
I contemplate stormy clouds
and turbulent creek.
*********************
In the flood of love
my heart naturally turns
to joyous haiku.
19/12/08
Christmas looms closer,
storms and heat mere irritants
in lead-up frenzy.
20/12/08
In our warm weather
I gaze at pictures of snow –
admire, don’t envy.
********************
Is it gift or wage
if you must be a good child
for Santa to come?
23/12/08
No longer looming,
Christmas is here. May it bring
peace and joy to all!
26/12/08
Christmas is over:
two days of festivity
in a busy year.
Losing track of days
in a welter of feasting,
I forget haiku!
28/12/08
The dark of the moon
a soft steady rain falling.
I write to my son.
Christmas is coming.
It’s hot in Australia,
swimming weather – yay!
(I think we better call this one a senryu.)
A friend commented:
There is a word for people who talk about heat & swimming weather while it is snowing here in Colorado -- but I don't think that word is "senryu." (-:
12/12/08
12/12/08
Morning dark and damp.
I contemplate stormy clouds
and turbulent creek.
*********************
In the flood of love
my heart naturally turns
to joyous haiku.
19/12/08
Christmas looms closer,
storms and heat mere irritants
in lead-up frenzy.
20/12/08
In our warm weather
I gaze at pictures of snow –
admire, don’t envy.
********************
Is it gift or wage
if you must be a good child
for Santa to come?
23/12/08
No longer looming,
Christmas is here. May it bring
peace and joy to all!
26/12/08
Christmas is over:
two days of festivity
in a busy year.
Losing track of days
in a welter of feasting,
I forget haiku!
28/12/08
The dark of the moon
a soft steady rain falling.
I write to my son.
11 December 2008
In the top!
Many thanks to all who have voted for me in the Top 100 Poetry Blogs thing. :)
I was one of the finalists and will have work in the forthcoming anthology. (Which I'll let you know about in due course.)
The idea is not so much the competition, it's to get more people reading more poetry – still, it's rather nice all the same to find my work so highly rated!
I was one of the finalists and will have work in the forthcoming anthology. (Which I'll let you know about in due course.)
The idea is not so much the competition, it's to get more people reading more poetry – still, it's rather nice all the same to find my work so highly rated!
5 December 2008
The poem of the dress
This recent photo is getting me so many compliments, I decided to revisit a poem I wrote about it in 2007. (On that occasion I was wearing it without the matching trousers.)
Summer dress
My cherry-red drapes me loosely,
floats when I move, dances with me.
Deep armholes show flashes of skin,
my underwear is "nude".
The slit front and scalloped sides
free my winter-white legs.
They stick right out in the sun,
they jig and twist and stride.
20/9/07
30 November 2008
After the Spring rains: haiku and things for November 2008
2/11/08
(In response to someone who insisted Beltane is May, Samhain November.)
The night of the dead
marks the turning of seasons
summer to winter.
The fire festival
marks an ascendance of sun
as life is renewed.
Here we're moving now
into the last phase of Spring.
Autumn's end is May.
The wheel is turning
over and over again
this way and that way
your way and my way
the way of the world's turning
its polarities.
The veils thin and part.
Always there will be dying
somewhere, and new birth.
4/11/08
Bird of Paradise Flower
poised in my garden
as if ready to take wing
and enter the light
5/11/08
5th November 2008
As the new day dawns
there are bells, there is singing.
The world takes a breath.
9/11/08
Early November.
Sudden eruptions of rain
turning hot days cold.
10/11/08
True stories
I dream new learning
training as a Samurai
then wake stiff and sore.
The wind howls all night.
Earlier that mighty voice
blasted down both gates.
13/11/08
Again the wind howls
after a day of hard rain.
Clouds cover the moon.
14/11/08
The full moon that rose
bright above the estuary
is now behind clouds.
**********************
Huge gardenias
round and white as the full moon
sweeten my birthday.
18/11/08
The same view
Across the world
your water birds in flight
skim my river.
(Response to a haiga by Deborah P. Kolodji, USA.)
*********************
Wild, wet, windy, cold.
Where is the Spring we enjoyed
just one week ago?
**********************
Reflections of trees
edging the wet black roadway
move too, as I walk.
21/11/08
After the rainstorms
morning is full of pigeons,
insistent cooing.
28/11/08
After the Spring rains
wet grass dotted with clover,
the smells of childhood.
29/11/08
Wind on the paddocks
moves in a wave through the grass:
an inland ocean.
*****************
Knee-high again,
the recently-mown lawn –
Spring rain-storms.
(In response to someone who insisted Beltane is May, Samhain November.)
The night of the dead
marks the turning of seasons
summer to winter.
The fire festival
marks an ascendance of sun
as life is renewed.
Here we're moving now
into the last phase of Spring.
Autumn's end is May.
The wheel is turning
over and over again
this way and that way
your way and my way
the way of the world's turning
its polarities.
The veils thin and part.
Always there will be dying
somewhere, and new birth.
4/11/08
Bird of Paradise Flower
poised in my garden
as if ready to take wing
and enter the light
5/11/08
5th November 2008
As the new day dawns
there are bells, there is singing.
The world takes a breath.
9/11/08
Early November.
Sudden eruptions of rain
turning hot days cold.
10/11/08
True stories
I dream new learning
training as a Samurai
then wake stiff and sore.
The wind howls all night.
Earlier that mighty voice
blasted down both gates.
13/11/08
Again the wind howls
after a day of hard rain.
Clouds cover the moon.
14/11/08
The full moon that rose
bright above the estuary
is now behind clouds.
**********************
Huge gardenias
round and white as the full moon
sweeten my birthday.
18/11/08
The same view
Across the world
your water birds in flight
skim my river.
(Response to a haiga by Deborah P. Kolodji, USA.)
*********************
Wild, wet, windy, cold.
Where is the Spring we enjoyed
just one week ago?
**********************
Reflections of trees
edging the wet black roadway
move too, as I walk.
21/11/08
After the rainstorms
morning is full of pigeons,
insistent cooing.
28/11/08
After the Spring rains
wet grass dotted with clover,
the smells of childhood.
29/11/08
Wind on the paddocks
moves in a wave through the grass:
an inland ocean.
*****************
Knee-high again,
the recently-mown lawn –
Spring rain-storms.
12 November 2008
Editorial aside: number change
On 12 November my age changed to 69 – giving me one more word to play with in these pieces. *Smile.*
6 November 2008
Frida Kahlo
I envisaged her with gardenias in her hair
like those over there on the coffee table,
big splashes of white, and that scent.
‘I think of Billie Holliday,’
said the friend who gave them to me.
‘She always wore one in her hair.’
True, but I thought of Frida,
of whom it is not, apparently, true.
I search her self-portraits. She wore
yellow flowers – daisies
and perhaps chrysanthemums –
and red roses. Seldom white;
and when, I couldn’t tell what kind.
So I look instead at her face
knowing of course the tales,
her life of pain and turmoil
and passion, and most of all love.
I gaze at her expression,
uncompromising,
and the set of her head.
Such dignity! She never smiles.
5/11/08
Submitted 7 March 2014 for Poets United's Midweek Motif: Honouring women and women's achievements. (I guess this honours her obliquely, not spelling it right out.)
like those over there on the coffee table,
big splashes of white, and that scent.
‘I think of Billie Holliday,’
said the friend who gave them to me.
‘She always wore one in her hair.’
True, but I thought of Frida,
of whom it is not, apparently, true.
I search her self-portraits. She wore
yellow flowers – daisies
and perhaps chrysanthemums –
and red roses. Seldom white;
and when, I couldn’t tell what kind.
So I look instead at her face
knowing of course the tales,
her life of pain and turmoil
and passion, and most of all love.
I gaze at her expression,
uncompromising,
and the set of her head.
Such dignity! She never smiles.
5/11/08
Submitted 7 March 2014 for Poets United's Midweek Motif: Honouring women and women's achievements. (I guess this honours her obliquely, not spelling it right out.)
31 October 2008
Heading for the sky: haiku and things for October 2008
3/10/08
Gone with September
those rainstorms and hard, cold winds.
October hots up.
*******************
The Wheel of the Year
keeps turning, as the world turns.
The seasons rotate.
*******************
Down here, Down Under,
we complement, not mirror.
A parallel world!
******************
Today in Pottsville
in an absence of traffic
and a flood of sun
the village is somnolent
as backroad afternoons.
(Note: I'm indebted to 'Lady Madelyn', who posts to Haiku on Friday at MySpace, for the phrase 'backroad afternoons'.)
10/10/08
Sky covered in grey.
The only colour I see,
my stained glass window.
11/10/08
Neat hair and beard now,
replacing straggly dreadlocks.
My friend goes to court.
14/10/08
Clouds cover the sky
on the night of the full moon.
Spring rain falls softly.
15/10/08
The sky is clouded.
There is a full moon tonight
that I'll never see.
17/10/08
A flash of bright green.
The first lorikeet of spring
surprises the air.
**********************
rainbow lorikeets
colours of autumn leaves, sky
green, red, yellow, blue.
***********************
Maple Vine
Red leaves climb a trunk
reaching past the tips of pines,
heading for the sky.
18/10/08
Green spider orchid.
I used to make that essence
helped by the devas
and guided by the Divine.
(It was for divination.)
24/10/08
Spring in the tropics.
The avocadoes ripen,
my wind chime sings loud.
*********************
My mother’s birthday.
Ten years and more since she died
but I don’t forget.
*********************
I sat by her bed
holding her hand till the end,
reluctant to know.
*********************
Ah, once they have crossed,
people love more freely:
no inhibitions!
I'm a medium.
It moves me to tears always,
that unfettered love.
********************
We give them poems.
Our way to honour the dead
who gave us our lives.
26/10/08
Basil garden
As we come closer
it rises to our nostrils,
that savoury scent.
31/10/08
Samhain
The moon's a sliver.
The ancestors and others
return through darkness.
Beltaine
We breathe together
lighting an etheric fire ...
leap together, fly.
*********************
Summer approaches.
Wind and surf sing together.
The trees are dancing.
Gone with September
those rainstorms and hard, cold winds.
October hots up.
*******************
The Wheel of the Year
keeps turning, as the world turns.
The seasons rotate.
*******************
Down here, Down Under,
we complement, not mirror.
A parallel world!
******************
Today in Pottsville
in an absence of traffic
and a flood of sun
the village is somnolent
as backroad afternoons.
(Note: I'm indebted to 'Lady Madelyn', who posts to Haiku on Friday at MySpace, for the phrase 'backroad afternoons'.)
10/10/08
Sky covered in grey.
The only colour I see,
my stained glass window.
11/10/08
Neat hair and beard now,
replacing straggly dreadlocks.
My friend goes to court.
14/10/08
Clouds cover the sky
on the night of the full moon.
Spring rain falls softly.
15/10/08
The sky is clouded.
There is a full moon tonight
that I'll never see.
17/10/08
A flash of bright green.
The first lorikeet of spring
surprises the air.
**********************
rainbow lorikeets
colours of autumn leaves, sky
green, red, yellow, blue.
***********************
Maple Vine
Red leaves climb a trunk
reaching past the tips of pines,
heading for the sky.
18/10/08
Green spider orchid.
I used to make that essence
helped by the devas
and guided by the Divine.
(It was for divination.)
24/10/08
Spring in the tropics.
The avocadoes ripen,
my wind chime sings loud.
*********************
My mother’s birthday.
Ten years and more since she died
but I don’t forget.
*********************
I sat by her bed
holding her hand till the end,
reluctant to know.
*********************
Ah, once they have crossed,
people love more freely:
no inhibitions!
I'm a medium.
It moves me to tears always,
that unfettered love.
********************
We give them poems.
Our way to honour the dead
who gave us our lives.
26/10/08
Basil garden
As we come closer
it rises to our nostrils,
that savoury scent.
31/10/08
Samhain
The moon's a sliver.
The ancestors and others
return through darkness.
Beltaine
We breathe together
lighting an etheric fire ...
leap together, fly.
*********************
Summer approaches.
Wind and surf sing together.
The trees are dancing.
30 September 2008
Long dark road: haiku and things for September 2008
3/9/08
Young and poor, I found
an orange in the gutter
shining like the sun.
5/9/08
Spring begins with rain
falling on land and ocean
with a hushed white roar.
**************************
The hurricane wind
reaches across the world
smelling of fear.
**********************************
When my son was here
he never saw these moments,
our small shared laughters.
The fact of an observer
changes what’s being observed.
6/9/08
This morning is bright
as if washed after the rain,
the picture refreshed.
*********************
For Haiku on Friday (MySpace)
In my time of dark,
in another hemisphere
my friends make poems.
I waken to find
here from all over the world
this feast of haiku!
12/9/08
Sept. 11
The burning towers
bloomed across my TV screen
and the world was changed.
19/9/08
Long dark road.
My friend's chest pain is intense.
The drive seems endless.
As I bring him home
after the operation
small birds are singing.
26/9/08
In the morning sun
red leaves outside my back door
glow, pointing upward.
28/9/08
Haiku and moonlight.
Leaves turning with the seasons
as dreaming begins.
Young and poor, I found
an orange in the gutter
shining like the sun.
5/9/08
Spring begins with rain
falling on land and ocean
with a hushed white roar.
**************************
The hurricane wind
reaches across the world
smelling of fear.
**********************************
When my son was here
he never saw these moments,
our small shared laughters.
The fact of an observer
changes what’s being observed.
6/9/08
This morning is bright
as if washed after the rain,
the picture refreshed.
*********************
For Haiku on Friday (MySpace)
In my time of dark,
in another hemisphere
my friends make poems.
I waken to find
here from all over the world
this feast of haiku!
12/9/08
Sept. 11
The burning towers
bloomed across my TV screen
and the world was changed.
19/9/08
Long dark road.
My friend's chest pain is intense.
The drive seems endless.
As I bring him home
after the operation
small birds are singing.
26/9/08
In the morning sun
red leaves outside my back door
glow, pointing upward.
28/9/08
Haiku and moonlight.
Leaves turning with the seasons
as dreaming begins.
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