“A Whittlesea Walk”

English poplars

grace the waterways,

tall in regal symmetrical splendour,

leaves fluttering shyly

in faded gold.

The native banksias

prefer a free-form dance

in confident profusion,

proudly owning the soil.

Russet velvet reeds

explode now

into small cream clouds,

like fluffy fledglings clinging to their stalks.

Frogs sing

from their hidden chambers

along the wetlands,

passing on some soggy amphibious secret

that is never known.

Grumbling crowds of cockatoos

eat the seed no doubt left

for prettier parrots and dainty finches,

their yellow crests curling upwards

in oblivious defiance.

Bronze-topped swamp grass

blurs into the softer hue

of an impressionist’s pallet

as I slowly walk away.

Almost leafless trunks

still haunt the top of the distant hills,

totems to fiery summers past,

the gentle hand of a wintering sun

no longer a threat…..

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“Little Lady”….(for Hilary)

You may be small

curled in your bed,

like a tiny sea-shell

rubbed small by sand and sea,

pink in translucent beauty

embedded now in the sandy shore

as life ebbs and flows around you

in inevitable tides of time.

But if I was to hold you to my ear

I would hear an oceanic roar,

of a lifetime lived

in all its joys and despairs,

peaks and troughs,

and the glittering calmness inbetween.

But even in your stillness

there is a quiet tenacity

to remain who you are;

a wonderful jewel of humanity

that has touched many shores…..

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“To Unwin St.”

Who says a house doesn’t have a soul?

rooted in rich composted memories,

reaching skyward

with tender-tipped hopes and plans.

But we had to leave,

and in the end they tore it down,

all dreams scattered to the winds;

all life gone without our breath

to fill each room;

walls like brittle lungs crumbled.

But still my eyes would look that way,

like a deep impression on my flesh

of a hand long held and cherished;

a ghostly tug upon my senses.

Who says a house doesn’t have a soul?

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“Beyond Doubt”

Your words

so plain and loving

I never have to strain

to hear their meaning,

and my imagination

is never forced to fill the gaps

with wishful thinking

or hoped-for intentions.

Your touch

given so freely,

and my heart still soars

in unexpected delight

that it is me you intend to keep.

Suddenly I know why

I walked down certain roads,

wandered in certain deserts,

felt the pain of certain losses;

so I would know beyond doubt

that it is you that I love…..

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“New Heart”

For a time…

my heart was torn,

by my own trusting blade

wielded by another’s careless hand.

I gathered it up to put it back,

but like a bird long-caged

it instinctively knew

it belonged to the sky.

Dragging its broken wing,

it preferred even the lowest branch

to its boney cage.

So it sat and watched the world

from its sheltered perch,

until my spirit finally joined

my brave and trembling heart

to shyly seek its lost song.

Then like birds of a feather

you found me in my hiding place,

and we sat companionably close

through the days and nights,

til we each spread our one good wing

and took to the sky

in delightful balanced flight….

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“Light and Life”

My heart is a delta

where all the rivers

of my experience end;

where the great ocean

of all that is good and constant

rolls in

to gather up the debris

of my endeavours,

leaving small pools of reflection.

My hands rest softly on my thighs

as I take another breath,

and the process begins again…..

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“A Mother’s Wish”

I would run through

the thirsty halls of your soul

trailing feathers and gold,

to brush and light its wondrous depths.

I would cut open your heart

to release the red pearls of life

to then rush through your veins

in a warm and glorious triumph.

I would fill your hands

with the luscious waters

of ancient and timeless wisdoms,

to transform all you merely think you are.

I would plant rows of tulips in your mind

with no shade of color forgotten.

I would do all these things

if the ‘gods’ allowed,

yet I will them for you every moment

in every one of my heartbeats……

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