in which a path is cleared

brushing past plants has become a natural part of life so much so

that being asked to cut some down seems unnatural. however i share

this path with others and so it must be. i approach the task with resignation

thinking how the patch is slowly becoming cartoon-like, a wilderness

in the suburbs. except for the path. salvias and roses, tagetes, liriopes

receive an unseasonal and respectful prune. i scramble behind these

now neat bushes filling in gaps with all the cuttings,  a sense of purpose

in recycling knowing that nature has its own way of reasserting growth

even as the city strides away from its green past. a small footprint

Summer Patch

While here

a passing human

bird waters the patch

with thought

so that salvias appear

like dots of reds

on an ochre ground

and olive trees

and grape vines

form a summer

patch, their


among the gumtrees” *


” from the song “Give me a home among the gumtrees” written by Wally Johnson and Bob Brown (aka Captain Rock) see Wikipedia¬†

Summer Patch copyrighted by the author

in which an evening gravitates

Waves of scent drift on the night air

to the sound of gravity, a sensory

end to a time in space so long ago

before a hoya or salvia broke free

from the tumble of leaf and seed

and soil to plant themselves here

where the stars spin on unaware


Copyrighted by the author

Dusk droop

A last bee droops in the dusk- heat hanging around

long after the swarm has gone. Salvias give up

vigour shrugging insect-chirp away in this

lacklustre air. Only lorikeets and miners sway

to an umbrella-fruit gig indifferent to the comical

sweaty shape buzzing around in meadowpatch.



Copyrighted by the author