in which a garden moves

and shifts in lightness, all leaves

criss-crossing like a zigzag of flare

sifting through bee hop and petal

flight. Circles of rain evaporate,

a waterfall of canna stripes

coloured with the confetti

of a flowering palm. Lorikeet

wings hover like an aerial

weather- vane spinning with fruit


Copyrighted by the author

The Garden Day

A day becomes a garden

An oasis in the midday

Sun written in cyclamen

So lush they could be lunch.

Words across a page

Read the sound of pond

Cascading baby tears on fern

Tops as I feel the beginning

Of waterlily spring. Away

From it all. I’ve flown with

The lorikeets into the palm’s

Cool treetop singing a song

To this simple day.


Copyrighted by the author

Cyclamen in a Bathtub

This early morning caught the first sense of cool

Though the beguiling sun invited me onto the train

And out. And so began the randomness of journey,

A geranium opens tiny cups of orange;

The water draws a line against the horizon;

That building site

Of soil piled grey in heaps as a scar is cut, corrupting

The city’s shoreline with money; they’re growing

A casino…

A yellow flower protruding from the railway vine;

A cyclamen in the bathtub tossing pert white crowns

At the passing show. Words: indolent, impertinent

The magnate, not the gardener.

Home to huge blocks

Of freshly chopped-down palm tree from somewhere

I could not see for the dark.