In remembrance: May 4

this year, I wrote no verse upon
the date, though remembrance
arrives often, unexpectedly, 
unbidden, and like you,never 
too late for words: 
So "I sing  a sang at least" 
to you and Robbie Burns 
talking to the last about words
and a bairn across the sea

Cooyrighted by the author

Remembering Pigeon

I always see little pigeon, Cutie,
among the cosmos, in a driveway,
on the rooftops, serene and untroubled
given life to be a bird. And birdman
holding dear a ball of fluff, so fragile,
a tiny creature lost among the crowds. 
That Pigeon lives I know, for wings 
of trust fly strong and birdman's 
heart is true. And currawong agrees.

Copyrighted by the author

sloshing

the sound of a garden sloshing 
soothes me though sinkholes, grooves,
furrows, crevices are opening up.
sloshing country is churning;
layers of earth lie hollowed below ozone. sloshing begets channels
sloshes of rivulets, creeks, puddles. 
Was there once a seven year drought?
I listen to the music of rain falling like a balm through the cracks.
across the sea, towns are flooded


Copyrighted by the authot

Raintime

listening to puddles.
splashes, drops dropping
dripping, the swirling
of  little rivulets, rainpools
mossspread ruminating
along logs, tree trunks
turning into intricate
lichen and somewhere
the sky a flare of colour
a reminder of sun


Copyrighted by the author

The tagetes way

The steps along a pilgrimage
become personal, they say, 
as each wayside stop at an inn
or under the arbour of an oak
compels introspection. I have
travelled far in meadowpatch
the tagetes way, shibui sungold 
piercing my heart with a purpose
of pure, joyful raggedness.

Copyrighted by the author

Crickets in May

Once it was late March
when the last of cricket song's
summer voices petered out
and dusk turned into music - 
kora crickets I might write now.

Now, May;  
dusk is hiding under cloud
as night strides in, rain
harmonic with bassoon
crickets loudly proclaiming
this time should be a season
of persistence not extinction.

Copyrighted by the author

Music

bring your violin
and voice
there is music to make
which plants

it could have been
thus
that music grew peace
not marching bands
or anthems

though even those
are scores of history

Copyrighted by the author

Bird

quickly mapped
a place and person
a nest and grub
dwelling in a feathered
cap of ever 
seeing and knowing
that birdman talks bird,
currawong's patch 
defined too

Near midnight

hard to write
as lamplight
jostles the letters
like thoughts
did eyes age first
unseen?

yet clarity persists;
this endless rain
swings in
and out like eye
drops

my little plantlings
darlings,
sprout sparky 
sight

Copyrighted by the author

Starquake

We woke to a hurricane of rain
battering on the roof, trees bowed
birds cowed and yes, sound shaking us
to alertness even as in the north, the east
earthquakes trembled and in other norths
wars turn people on each other. This ancient earth
was weeping again.


We turn our gaze upon the darkening day
moon eclipses sun, stars oscillate dancing 
an even older dance, in dialogue. We've made 
language for space, this infinity of disturbance 
wrought through time, travelled far together. Opacity
along such a binary continuum, a peace offering, a reminder 
of beauty. 


Copyrighted by the author