There is a place,

children

There is a place,

a breathing space between where the neat hedge stops
and the garden next door splays,
where the moss spreads cool and green,
where the stars wink with aged beams,
where the spruce hare relaxes and dreams,
warming her fur in the yellow-berry rays.

Let us go from this place where the shrill wind screams
down blackened roads and acrid dead ends,
clear of the coal mines and gravestone heads,
walk steadily forward, ignoring the dread,
and the clothes that are sullied and shred,
in search of that space between garden and hedge.

But the way is blurred and the path overgrown
and the memory of clear weather has strayed,
with time the burnished metal has dulled,
with time the mind needs to be oiled,
with time all the sparks have been culled,
so let’s search for the children to show us the way.

__________________________________________________

Note: This poem was inspired by Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends.

 

floating

theodolite

I’m cool back
jellyfish floating
on the coral sea
weightless drifting
problems shifting
away with scant clouds
swaying with the jazz scat
of almost waves
sun through blood orange eyelids
warming in the no-where to go
flow

Happy 18th Michael💝

Molly and Michael (2)

dog-napping Darth Vader style

Wow, our son is an adult!

Eighteen years old today – happy birthday Michael.

How did that happen 😍💥😁

So proud of Michael – he’s nearly finished his year 12 schooling (one term to go) and he is coping magnificently with life, learning and all things that go with growing up. In fact, I think he may be the most chilled year 12 student around. He has the right philosophy you see – an appreciation that life requires a good balance between work, other boring stuff, play, family, and study. He is also blessed with a very good heart and that is my definition of success in this gritty world of ours.

Love you to the end of the universe and back Michael (and any alternative universes) 💖💥

Michaels 18th

Heaven on Earth

 

BrolgasJune2018 020 (4)
photo by Gabrielle Bryden

We have been blessed to have Brolgas visit us recently – they are one of Australia’s largest flying birds standing about 1 metre tall and a wingspan of up to 2.4 metres. It’s a bit like watching an emu fly – which would be very strange 🤔

Haiku:

Brolgas in the sun,

watching with admiration

the wings of angels

wine connoisseur

poetscorner

wine connoisseur

 see, swirl, sniff, sip, savour
spit
blahblahblah vibrant drop blahblahblah
see, swirl, sniff, sip, savour
spit
blahblahblah full bodied blahblahblah
see, swirl, sniff, sip, savour
spit
blahblahblah woody notes blahblahblah
see, swirl, sniff, sip, savour
spit
blahblahblah complex flavours blahblahblah
see, swirl, sniff, sip, savour
spit
blahblahblah strong finish blahblahblah
see, swirl, sniff, sip, savour
slurp, slurp, slurp, slurp, sluuuurp,
blahblahblah flubalubalub blahblahblah
hic
hic hic
zzzzzzzzzzzzz

RIP Sweet little Pippin 😥

Baby Pippin

Sweet mini-goat Pippin passed away last night – we got the vet out but he had a blockage in one of his stomachs and it was too late.

He will be missed by his human family and his herd (Raspberry, Benny, Billy, Merlin and Spirit) – especially Raspberry who was particularly close to little Pippin – we bought them together and bottle fed both of them 😪

raspberry and pippin

Pippin

molly-and-co

Pippin and Merlin

Beasties

The Volcanologist (Mr X)

abstract active ash color

The Volcanologist (Mr X)

Looming cautious, he peers like a jaguar in a tree,
an addict, on the edge of a big mistake –
mind split, fractured by equal needs to flee
and stay, here with the sacred magma lake,
to gaze, heart aching, on such magnificence,
ever moving, potent beauty and force,
he stares and drowns in true ambivalence,
to leave or join Gaia, to stay the course.
~
Obsession took its hold from early days –
a younger Mr X devoured all the words he could
on the marvels of earth’s seismic rage displays.
But that was not enough, he understood
his studies heart would need to be insitu,
so travelling far he searched volcanic forms –
those most fiery, not subdued.
This fascination deepened into swarms

of thoughts, so strange, they frightened him, in ways
not clear, but also a calm, they did provide,
a balm to life’s disasters and dull days,
a twisted but faithful beacon to guide.
~
The earth rumbles, lava blobs and hot spits
sulphur breath into the air, hissing yes,
or was that no, his ears are playing tricks
and his feet move closer, as if to acquiesce,

his face glows in the heat of his adored,
his lips dry and crack in desiccated air,
but his eyes crave more than he’s had before,
never tiring of this burnt burgundy affair.

So he moves in, closer still, skin all but touching
the creature that is this moving lava flow.
Such crushing heat and smells, the flooding
of agony through every synapse – No!

Sheer panic rises in his throat, he turns for flight,
the heat so strong his boots have all but melt,
his shirt melds to his skin, the glaring light.

He flees, goat-like, far from this earth’s death belt.

_____________________________________

I may have tracked down Mr X 🤣:

Hawaiian local suffers serious leg injury being ‘lava-bombed’ while sitting on porch

Note: Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

OCD

room

My parents divorced when I was five;
I swore never to eat another tomato.

I  line up condiments and cutlery, never
step on the cracks, and everything

must
pair.

I will check that the stove is off,
once, twice, thrice and again.

I will touch wood lightly
four times, before speaking.

a place for everything
and everything in its place

the house is neat and clean,
but the weather outside is wild,

the house is neat and clean,
and I am calm inside.

I grew tired of matching the colours
of pegs on the line,

so now I use
a clothes dryer.

I will not eat a tomato;
my parents are still apart.

_________________

Note: This poem is based on an old friend of mine who has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) – she told me the tomato story and it stuck with me – she knew how irrational it sounded but she understood that that is the nature of OCD – the desire to control the uncontrollable world around us.

Nuddernote: OCD stands for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

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