Twenty Twenty-Two

 Post Moderna aching head

wanting to lie down in bed

but the birds are singing

and the day's brand new

the first of twenty twenty-two

and I'll be damned

if Delta and Omicron

are going to win

this war they've begun;

I'm needled and masked

and I'm stepping outside

to soak up the sunshine

and step into my life -

to walk through forests

throw my arms around trees

feel their healing vibrations

from my head to my feet -

to play bird-call bingo

as the birds sing me along

some of them laughing

when I get the calls wrong -

to smell the musty smells

that hint at the wild

and play eye spy with creatures

evolutionised to hide -

to stand under waterfalls

that wash away pain

and let the rhythms of nature

seep through my veins -

to attune my heart

to the sounds and the smells

and the life force of all things

in Mother Earth's world - 

to soak up the goodness

and take it back home

with energised chakras

that block out my qualms -

but maybe first

I'll just walk

through the park

and osmose dogs playing

in that space 

where their thoughts are.

Shape of a Girl

 This album

that I hold 

in my hand

dappled with

my tear drops

of laughing

and crying

rings

with the stories

of a little girl's

now grown life.

They're told

in songs

and music

shaped by her

and a brother

who filled

his musical palette

with the rhythms

and textures

and melodies

of all her years

to sculpt

the sounds

of her stories.

This album

that I hold

in my hand

is rich

with love -

it's the knowing

photographer's eye

of a life friend

catching

that moment

of vulnerability

between smiles -

it's an artist

she calls

soul sister

wrapping her

in brush strokes

born of 

their harmony -

it's her love

caressing her

with the music

that passed

from her

through his heart

and back 

to her

as his violin

sang her stories -

it's the voices 

and instruments

of those 

who stepped over

the snoring cavaliers

to squeeze

into the studio

they called 

Tiny Dream

and into

the music

that when

it was finished

fitted so perfectly

into the shape

of the girl

and into

this album

that I hold

in my hand.

The Flower

Moving forward

step by step

breath by breath

billboard slogans

infiltrate

my mind

reemerging

from within

when I am lost

to steer me

where

I otherwise

might not go -

I hope 

I'll pass by 

a flower today

for somewhere

encrypted

in the data

of my memory

are murmurings

that

if I could see

the miracle

of a single flower

my whole life

would change.

Thoughts Adrift

Our hands

tell our stories

I thought

as I watched him steer

the old paddle wheeler

down the Thomson River

in a stretch of water

the locals said

had never run dry

even though

beyond the coolibahs

dry and dusty

treeless flats

stretched

to the horizon

sneezing dust 

into the hazy twilight

as lumbering trucks

raced the night

and kangaroos

frozen

by the blinding lights

fell

to a foisted fate

by the roadside -

fodder not only

for the carrion hunters

I thought

but for the tellers 

of tales

back at home

and on the road

around billabong campfires

as billies boiled

and yarns gave way

to legends -

the stars

I thought

that night

trying to find them

behind the dusky

pink haze

have been 

telling us stories too

since the beginning

of time

about this planet -

now I thought

still trying

to find one

is the time

to listen.

 

Three Haikus for Hiroshima

Sunny morning gone,

firestorm sky raining black

on Hiroshima.

Summer night lanterns

on Motoyasu River ...

spirits of the dead.

Child fingers folding

rainbow squares of peace and hope,

cranes for Sadako.