Christmas Tree

It’s Christmas time yet once again

another year has past

slightly quicker than the last one

which also moved quite fast -

it sometimes leaves me wondering

how many yules are left

to gather up the family

into my little nest -

to decorate the Christmas tree

and sing of jingle bells

of Rudolph with a ruby nose

and Santa and his elves

of a manger and a baby

and a silent holy night

of a star that lit the eastern sky

with incandescent light -

to soak up all the magic

as the mistletoe is hung

as fairy lights twinkle

as  carol singers hum

as the universe listens

to that yuletide seasonal plea -

 let the family gather next year

round the Christmas tree with me.

Five Rows of Seats

The man in the glasses and brown leather coat

sat down for the evening’s concert ...

At his right sat his wife resplendent in red

but with head lopsidedly angled ...

He took in the sight of his wife at his right

and pretending she wasn’t with him

focused on the sight of the theatre that night

as the opera goers poured in ...

Excitement showed in the bulge of his eyes

as somewhere the gentleman recognised

an acquaintance last seen in Paris streets

or so he broadcast across five rows of seats,

a mistake he soon regretted ...

The lights dimmed the singers appeared

the silence spoke of a magic shared

as Don Giovani regaled us ...

All except one resplendent in red

whose bobbing, nodding, snoring head

reminded her husband that she was there

cradled in the arms of Morpheus

and sitting only five rows back

was the man he’d met in Paris ...

He was clearly embarrassed ...

He nudged his wife, she didn’t stir ...

He pinched her bright red arm,

aghast as she clapped with much effect

just as Don Giovanni clutched Zerlina’s breast 

an unspeakable moment of horror ...

The man in the glasses and brown leather coat 

sank in his seat as low as would go 

but not low enough to escape the looks 

of rows P through to T who in concert took

his memories of Paris Streets 

 and hurled them back at him 

across five rows of seats.

Ride of My Life

Not spending

any more energy

trying to undo

outcomes

that don’t meet

the images

of my expectations ...

Going to straddle

the steed

of no regrets

and let it

lead me

to unexpected joys.

Haiku

dappled-lit stream

rolling out ripples -

morning dew drops

Haikus

purple sea

swallowing footprints -

jacaranda time

jacaranda

laying a purple path-

queens's carpet

Kookaburra (dedicated to Emma and Ant)

 

Kookaburra sat in an old gum tree

directly behind our heads

dreamily eying our plates of food

and the things on which we fed -

a sudden swoop, a breezy woosh

and our hair newly parted

we saw our chook being shook

by a bird best known for laughter -

as we watched it feast 

on our barbecue beast

and took in its carnivorous beak

we decided it best not to argue -

it pounded a leg then swallowed it whole

putting on quite a show -

wondering if its bottomless pit

would require some more of our chickeny bits

we packed up our bags and departed.

Postscript

Kookaburra sat in an old gum tree

and laughed at us.

.

Haiku

White clouds move apart,

blue eyes watch me watching -

gone in a blink.

Haiku

Sizzling sounds

fill the morning stillness -

mulga eyes watching

Monkey Business

Spain's La Linea 

leads us 

to a rock perched 

in the Mediterranean,

famous for its wild

Barbary Macaque monkeys.

We are not disappointed.

As we arrive 

the monkeys grin 

and preen for us.

Cameras flash 

whirr and click

capturing the antics

for our holiday snaps

which on closer look

back in our hotel room

hint at just who 

the assembled apes

on the rock 

really are.

Dolphin Eyes

A curious brown eye

found my heart

and pierced it

with a primordial barb

that stirred

the depths

of my being.

A Maze Ing

A picture frame

a clock

a wok

a cutting board

a mat

were on the list

when I left home

instead

I bought a rat

some finger puppets

and a vase

a bed

a stepping ladder

and if
that wasn’t
quite enough

the thing

that makes
me madder

was the meatballs

set in gravy

with a dollop

of potato

that found their way

into my mouth

when I met

with my friend
later ...

dazed and glazed

and programmed

to join in

any queue

we wound around

some railings

linked
to mass production
food...

following 

all the others

we grabbed
a tray

and plates

piled them high

with mash

and meatballs

bagged a table

sat

and ate!

The Storm

Dark clouds hover 

windows shut

in anticipation

of thunderous claps

and pelting rain

pushed inside

by blustery winds.

Along the Fleurien Way

Parked by the roadside

at Myponga

along the Fleurian Way

I watch pale grasses

dance to Mali beats

as blustery winds

whip garbage bins

into a percussive frenzy -

branches weakened

by the dry summer, snap 

spiralling downward

in death rolls

timed to nature’s beat

their thudding climax stolen

by a shrieking tinny reed

and a voice calling

time for a cuppa.

Naked

Little bushy tops

like sprigs of parsley

bunched together

dot the mountainside -

their summer colour

relieves the stark expanse

of skeletal gums

that stand denuded

seared by the raging heat

of nature’s hell -

they wait for winter cover

to blanket their nakedness

until spring.

Defying Gravity

For a fleeting moment
the simple realisation
that there are
some things
just beyond
my reach
of change
grabbed hold of me
and filled me
with such peace
and overwhelming
lightness
I thought
I would defy
gravity …

Elliot

Elliot,

as he was known,

lithe and brown

and tuneful

with the fullness

of sound

created by his

perfect chest

has fallen prey

to the tyranny

of hardened hands

and hearts

unable to comprehend

the resonance

of the careless throw

that broke him

and the heart

of the little girl

who loved him

from the first time

she held him

in her hands

to make

music.

The Lost Symphony

On a wind-swept beach

at 10am

the sun has gone away

tired of pleasing

the holiday crowds

gathered

for their annual stay.

Mostly children

find their way

to the beach

it’s never too cold

to explore 

they play in the sand

watch the waves

as they pound

the rain-drenched

lonely shore.

But their stay is brief

and they disappear

enticed

by a distant chant

promising sunshine

tomorrow

the reason

for setting up camp 

and the symphony

scored

for the stormy day

played by the rain

wind and sea

is lost in time

to the children

who now wait

expectantly …

Monolith

The markings

on this ancient thing

mesmerise me

and exhort me

to challenge

archaic ways

that condemn

pristine places

to dark

and desolate

hell holes

landscaped

with promises

of a greater good

by truly greedy people.

Sixty Four Today

He wonders aloud

where the years 

have gone 

we all do

but years 

are no measure

of a life, rather

it’s the moments lived

each one precious

each one a lifetime

each one played out

in the now

unshackled

by the doctrines

of time.

Day is Done

It’s that time of day

when your work is done

and the sun is going down

a drink in your hand

and the radio on

a pleasing steady hum 

thoughts are nowhere special

just moving along with the breeze

it’s that time of day

when life makes sense  

a moment

to let the world breathe …

By the Sea

Fingers of foam

reach into my mind

to wash away

the residue

of discontent

that stains me.

Letter to the Editor

It was only just

the other day 

I planned to write  

you a letter 

something to do 

with the state 

of the world 

and how to

make it better 

but I forgot 

and so did a lot 

of others I suspect 

for this morning 

the world 

suddenly stopped 

along with my hopes 

for the best.

Wondering

When death 

grabs me

I wonder

if I’ll struggle

or relax

enfolded

in its arms

as I’m carried

through

my memories

to

the end.

Kiama Pines

  I sat upon

a picnic table

looking out to sea

while all around

giant Norfolk pines

hovered over me -

like stairs to heaven

they called me up,

the prize

the stars

that sat on top,

out of reach

they promised much

like that

evening star

Magis trekked

to touch

so long ago

in Bethlehem.

Welcome

Welcome to My Life, My Poems.

When the world moves me I need to express myself in words that paint pictures in my mind.

In this blog I wish to share these pictures in poems.