My Dad’s Legacy – Mary’s haiku
My Dad’s legacy
Love of words, delight in birds
Precious gift to me
My Dad’s Legacy – Mary’s haiku
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Category Archives: Poetry
In Molesworth
(On the night of this photo, from this very microstage, it might not look possible, but it is true, true, true! The man above caused the mayhem below)
I come upon a fawning crowd
Of ferals
Bogan fresh and proud
Straight from the shower
And into the pub
Girls glistening with glitter
Post hot water scrub
Their stretch jeans too tight
Their muffin tops showing
Breasts fixed just right
Pancake face glowing
The boys in their utes
Polished for showing
All looking cute
With product hair woven
They come in their droves
From asbestos laced shedding
From acreage homes
Town houses with cladding
They gather in cliques
Or large social groups
The drinks go down nicely
The talk turns to hoots
And bold statements of fact
And alcohol hugs
The bravado act
As beer goes in chugs
The girls are a twitter
Who did what to whom?
They flit hither thither
Across the filling room
The singles are looking
For a match for the night
All out there hooking
Their catch to hold tight
The couples are clingy
Not risking detachment
While the bully boys prowl
Asking “What that meant?”
The lonely boys savour
Their chances tonight
And if they’re not lucky
There’s always a fight
We’re packed in the room
As the lights slowly fade
There’s noise in the gloom
It comes from the stage
A postage stamp corner
Two metres by three
Can it be enough
For a man such as he?
Hushed anticipation
A God almighty roar
An explosive oration
James Reyne’s through the door
They know every word
For every single beat
They’re a seething horde
A mob on its feet
The mob moves as one
Rolling in great waves
And it sings as one
Waking cemeteries of graves
Glasses held aloft
Drinks slosh with abandon
Dancers mash and mosh
Bodies bounce and cannon
Reyne looks astonished
With worry in his eye
They won’t be admonished
They’re living the lie
So he charms them
And he works them
The favourites are all here
He sings every hit
Everyone holds dear
Delivers with great fervour
Stokes their every passion
They sway and rock and quiver
Out of their heads and thrashing
The pace increases
Momentum builds
They’re here to get
Rock dreams fulfilled
He massages their egos
He caresses their zones
He tickles their fancies
He shakes their bones
He works them to ecstatic climax
As one collective lover
The building shakes
The room erupts
Foundations quake
…..
But it’s not enough
They cry loud, “More, more!”
But James is through the kitchen
Quickly out the door
To quit while you’re ahead
In Molesworth that’s for sure
Together, the mob bows its collective head
They pause in the afterglow
They know tonight went red
They know how to put on a show
In Molesworth
for eternity
Image
A poem for thine eyes to see
Words that speak of love for thee
A verse from where my head doth rest
Upon thy softly rising chest
A breath
A gentle tender plea
To bind our hearts eternally
To state our love is rich and rare
An intimacy that none can share
I’ll stay with you through eternal life
My friend my lover my eternal wife
Jocose
I am jocose
In the most playful sense
Humorously jocular
Amusingly dense
My jovial disposition
Laughter vents
winter nights, spoken delights
Gallery
This gallery contains 3 photos.
Last night, in good company, I went to a first evening of poetry readings at the North East Artisans Community Art Space in Benalla. It just so happens that this closely coincided with our very own first Strathbogie Spoken Word … Continue reading
The Death of Miss Richards
Did you read A S Patric’s Black Rock White City? “The Death of Miss Richards” stands alone as a poem, but read the book to meet the character properly. Highly recommended.
Why did miss richards die
Jump in front of the train
Without learning to fly
She broke her wrists and her ankles
Before the Hallam train hit
For the briefest of moments
She hurt a bit
Although and however
She may have been hurting
Previously forever
Why didn’t miss richards cry
Let out her feelings
Sob, weep and sigh
Miss Richards always looked so content
Nose in a book
Mind being sent
Not a woman in pain
Not a lass to complain
Of a heart broken or rent
And she ate vegetarian food
For the soul
It looked good
It makes you wonder how should
What actually could
Make miss richards want to die
Miss Richards looked serene
Like one in a dream
Thoughtful and peaceful
Quiet as a mouse
I note she loved music
And the capacity to choose it
Her playlists sashay lists
Of walls without bridges
As we on the ridges
Played miss richards I spy
I never said hi miss richards
Nor hello now goodbye
So she sat by herself until lunchtime went by
Miss richards headphones and book
Ne’er one to sook
Ne’er a wet eye
As she kept to herself
Alone on her shelf
Self sufficient as one cloud in a blue blue sky
Oh why oh why
Did miss richards have to die
Hedge End Lane
we took a walk down Hedgend Lane
squeezed it in ‘tween showers of rain
a short walk from the bogie road
walking to an end unknown
with us walking we took the whippet
keen as mustard leashed and at it
we set off into an icy grind
tempting fate against winter’s mind
the road was dirt puddles like scales
the wind was cold sharp as nails
the sky was grey and overcast
prophesising an arctic blast
we met two cockies one unwell
the other uted name of Neville
we chewed the fat for a moment or two
then nev went off to feed his ewes
he knew our house and seller’s name
said she fell victim to a scam
he asked about the other cock
down the road about a block
we said we saw its damaged wing
we couldn’t get close to do a thing
nev had been asked by his lovely wife
to mercy kill it take its life
as we waved farewell to nev and ute
we thought the man was quite astute
a life at bogie on a farm
a laconic style of rural charm
the next instalment was a procession of lambs
from biggest to smallest dashing for dams
such cute and playful snow white children
it’s quite a flock old nev’s a building
then we came to the farm homestead
work dogs wagging tethered to sheds
at the front gate there’s a dead bloated sheep
the one nev warned us about to go deep
onward we walked into more open space
where grazing occurs at a slow country pace
a hereford watched our brisk passage past
as it chewed on cud made of wet winter grass
at the end of the road there’s a pleasant surprise
a tableland drop off topped by glowering skies
the gap between hills is not very wide
but big enough to see down the hillside
it’s a break in the mountain to a view of great grace
we can see to the plains and expansive green space
to the base of the tableland looking down is a thrill
from our throne like position at the top of the hills
Robin on the fence – Mary’s haiku
Robin on the fence
Flaming, flitting, just ahead
Leads a cheeky dance
Ni’ ni’ sweetie pie
Ni’ ni’ sweetie pie
I’m going to leepy la
To the land where the dream tree grows …..
Once I’m settled and curled
And my heart has unfurled
I’ll be ready to witness the show
I’ll beam all beatific at the wonders terrific
Of the whorls and the heat and the snow
I’ll meander with candour
Past sweet treats and wander
To the rooms where they play with a bow
Sweet music will render
My soul to surrender
To the passions of love’s inner glow
And I’ll put all at stake
On the heroes I’ll make
As I stand up preparing to go
Back to the darkness
To the bedroom soft harkness
Of the breathing of sleep low low low
Summer meditation
At first it is the light you become aware of
The golden hue of a summer evening sun
The surreal enhancement of every vista
An enriching highlight to the end of the day
Take a deep breath
Sigh it out through an open mouth
Cleanse
Then the sounds reach into you
A rippling cascade of water
A wind gently rustling leaves
A magpie carolling
Find your position of comfort
Melt your body into the earth
Unwind
Your skin responds to the air around you
Its featherlight touch, gossamer weight
Soothing, reassuring, fresh and clean
Smooth your brow
Part your lips
Drop your shoulders
Let your hands and feet fall where they will
Relax
Close your eyes
Meditate
The world around you fades
You pacify it, clear your mind
Letting everything that was today go
Focus your mind’s eye between your eyebrows
Know your breathing
Breathe in
Breathe out
Breathe in
Breathe out
Float
Be
33 kinds of rain
The misting rain as light as being
The pitter patter rain of anticipation
The sun shower rain of joyfulness
The dawn lit rain of new awakenings
The driving rain of persistent harassment
The piercing rain of pain and hurt
The bleak rain of uncertainty
The saturating rain of grief
The pounding rain of anger
The cold rain of fear and loathing
The persistent rain of melancholy
The drought breaking rain of celebration
The tropical rain of surprise and relief
The tin roof rain of night time snuggles
The slanting rain of getting under your skin
The fat wet rain of things to come
The dull rain of misery
The easing rain of hope for a day
The sheeting rain of washing your sins away
The aerosol rain that never settles
The eddying rain of indefinite endings
The ominous rain of growing darkness
The thunder laden rain of shock and fear
The storm driven rain of nature’s authority
The drenching rain of no escape
The floating rain of disproportionate outcomes
The harrowing rain of oppression and spite
The lightning flash rain of vision burned
The unexpected rain of scrambling for shelter
The flooding rain of tears
The icy rain of an unknown future
The sleety rain of chilled to the bone
The sunlit rain of clarity of purpose
The dancing rain of swirling possibilities
The evening rain of contemplation
The elemental rain of fundamental outcomes
The cloaking rain of secrecy
The wispy rain of dissipation
The hard rain of death
The transparent rain of release
The soft rain of peace
Dark, black night, cold, white frost, warm, golden sunshine
The cold can bite you here. It is sharp and crisp and penetrating. In the dark of a cloudless, moonless, star bright landscape, in the nocturnal brilliance of moonlit contrasts, in the shelter of a blackened room, it stabs through the bedclothes. It targets your knees or a hip, whichever joint is most elevated and least supplied with a warming blood supply. It ices your brain.
Then the morning comes. The frozen grass cracks under your feet. The birdbaths are glazed and crazed and the world is a wonderland of white light, of reflective crystals. It’s all worth it.
Then comes the sun. Gently rising over the tree lined eastern horizon, shafts start breaking through the cold barrier in scattered beams of raw illumination. Light sprays jump from each hoary crystal bed they touch. But just as quickly, just as they commence their flashy dance, they are replaced by translucent droplets, silvery and clear, mirroring the world around them in fresh formed globules like polished convex glass.
Then the rich, thermal bath of undiluted yellow sunshine begins. It bathes our world in a warming golden glow, washing from our memory the cold that was snapping at our heels such a short time ago. We revel in it. We revere it. We relish the transition from the sharp edged winter’s night to the slow, melting, immersive onset of another glorious North East Victorian winter’s day.
