in which rain startled a plover

from repose. High above


I saw the plover like a dot hovering


and then settling quietly on the willow

outside my window. I was somewhere else

dreaming in front of a screen of workday

nothings, brooding on lingo from management graduates

we’ve all become a project plan in excel spreadsheets

practitioners of process,  grumbling thoughts

disturbed by rumbling outside and then the rain

poured down, the sky simply wept, opening up the world

to a natural deluge, a pure torrent of freshness that drew me

to the weeping branches, drew me to the gaiety of umbrella-less workers

draw breath and run, and the plover, disturbed,

shakes its neatness like a business suited bureaucrat,

toffs its head and flies off leaving the grass trodden and damp

the tree rocking and shaking, the ground greening and fertile

my single thought to wing it too before we all turn to stone


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Strong salvias droop

in the unexpected

early autumn.

I provide what I can

taking in

their latent vivacity

happily, far away

from desk life

with it’s constant

patter of people

in all their perennial


I sink lower

into my revolving chair

still listening,

still caring

as I hear bureaucracy’s

wounding howls

even at a distance.

The office becomes

a floating lily pad

for lost souls

hiding selves and platitudes

in the shortening days


for the clarity of rain

to pitter down

on us all.

I watch for signs

of returning life.


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time to hear the butcher bird’s long

daytime drawl and watch the tourists

drag their legs up the hill pausing

to snap the moreton bays outside

my window, barefoot trees posed

still in their stately tai chi stretch

routine. Bureaucracy crawls slowly

elsewhere, in closed secretive stuffy

rooms, while I reflect on randomness

and running. Away.


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