Category Archives: Poetry

The rocks

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Shark Bay, Western Australia. Photo: Michael Taylor.
The rocks called the brave fishermen to their very edge
"come hither, fish from here"
they said
"the fish are biting
the catch is better 
the fun is greater
the platform flatter
the water deeper
the violent waves
are more extreme"
challenging warnings
of danger
with a fisherman’s dream

the men they came 
day in day out
urging each other
mucking about
telling fish tales
over waves in shouts
clad for spray
from towering spouts
casting long into the deep
swells without doubt 

standing or sitting 
amongst squawking gulls
from cold cans or hot thermos
taking deep pulls
reeling in their lines
casting again
taking on the elements
as true fishermen 

when the king wave hit
most scrambled to safety
some saved by their fellows
dragged to the shore
others dragged down
were followed by bellows
where are you our friends
are you on oceans floor
or riding the waves
in hope of rescue
we will scour the surface 
we will hope to find you
we’ll watch from the rocks
for any sign of life 
or we’ll slowly trudge home 
to inform family and wife

Poetry days #28.

The writing is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Stars

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The first two, Strathbogie Tableland, Victoria.
The star that fell as a bright flaring slash across the sky was really a meteor
the dull star that brightens then fades over weeks in the night above is really a comet
the star that arcs in a consistent orbit lit in the heavens is really an artificial satellite 
if ever a star was to really fall toward earth the solar system would simply ignite 
There is no Father Christmas

Poetry days #26

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Accessible walks are for everyone

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Accessible walk, Lake Pertobe, Warrnambool, Victoria.
Accessible walks are such a wonderful thing
getting all people out to enjoy nature and sun
for me, it is a matter of strategic dreaming
that I will publish each accessible walk for everyone

the pleasure I see in enjoyed natural spaces
and landscaped gardens designed for all
the smiles on all young and adult faces
as they embark on a walk at nature's call

feeling healthier and fitter for being outside
as they see the sights on a walk or a roll
and so much mentally better inside
breaking the chains of confinement is a worthy goal

If you are looking for an accessible walk in Victoria, this not for profit site is where we publish: https://walkingmaps.com.au/accessible-walks

Poetry days #25

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Spooky table with a view

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Picnic table amongst coastal Ti-tree, Lorne, Victoria.
This picnic table had a great view of the sea
but it was what was behind that distracted me
when I turned these twisted elongated branches
were reaching at me with strong twiggy pincers
their prehensile limbs moving into my space
their sinister demeanour put a frown on my face
I was sure as I sat that these ti-trees did creep
I was sure as I sat that my body they did seek
before being encased in the arms of these woods
I got up and ran while I felt I still could

Poetry days #24.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Three Yellow-tailed black cockatoos

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Yellow-tailed black cockatoos, Strathbogie Forest.
The one on the left said, "What will we do?
I think share all our seed, what about you two?"
The one on the right said, "I've earned more than you."
"I'll be taking full earnings, as is my due!"
The one in the middle said, "Be reasonable." On cue.
"There's no need to bicker, dissent or argue.
Let's eat what we need and let some accrue."
The way forward was set by this Yellow-tailed black guru.

Poetry days #22.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

readwhat

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what we choose to read shapes our lives
who's the author
what's it mean
has it purpose
is it a screen

what's the story
why's it there
who will read
who cares

is it good
is it bad
is it happy 
is it sad

what's important
truth or lie
live or die

This dVerse Quadrille prompt was “What the what?” from De Jackson – for a poem of 44 words including the word “what”.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

The right way to go

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Old Mill, Nagambie, Victoria.
I was searching for a sign
the right way to go
I found it in an unexpected spot
and the sign did clearly show
in which direction to embark
it was the sign - I know

Photography days #17.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Memory

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My capacious memory
encompasses all my life
an unenduring legacy
to be cut sometime 
by death’s knife

Poetry days #20.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Spin

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Desertification in the Mallee, Victoria.
I never stopped the world
the world it never stopped me
until the day I forgot to pay
homage to nature’s way

the time I wrecked the world
was the time the world wrecked me
my influence and consequence
heated it by degrees

oh it kept spinning assuredly
you might claim there was no problem
but on the surface I
directed its death and then some

I am man, 
I said I can.
What am I bid? 
So, I did

Poetry days #18.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Birdsong

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New Holland Honeyeater
The bird that spoke that first perfect note
was a revelation to its kin
because she could sing so beautifully
the other birds decided to join in

some of the birds variations heard
they felt they could do better
so they sang with melodies that made 
the landscape ring
and to each note
gave a letter

a chorus formed of singing birds 
who organised their songs
into works of art 
many species took part 
and for the choir
others came along

a feud broke out all about 
which birds sang best of the rest
unresolved each species kept 
their songs close to their chest
and so today when you hear each 
sing their special tweet 
be mindful that this is why
only one song can each species 
ever repeat

Poetry days #16.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

In death

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Every soldier, once a child (family archive).
The lips are thin their colour grey
the hair is dull and lank
the skin is pallid
tugor at bay
the smell is fetid, rank
the wound is swollen
putrid, reddened
exposed are tissue and bone
what man lies here
dead and neglected?
what inspired him to roam?

the war that left him lying here
alone on hardened ground
did abandon him
as all wars will
to his silence amongst  
the furious sound

what home did he leave?
what cause was his?
that left him so cold and pale
so far from where he began
so distant from a family’s wail
with no one to grieve his lost soul
with none to respectfully lay him deep

we will take him to yet another hole
we will bury him amongst the others
in yet another heap

Poetry days #15.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Alone

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I never loved another
no other ever loved me 
then how is it that I know love
and what it is that love should be
love is always on my mind
a want of love so kind
yet when I see others in love 
it only serves to remind
me of my days alone
such a feeling of unease

should I ever bring love home
I’ll ever strive to please

Poetry days #14.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want Ai to use my work.

hero-maker

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above the field the hero-maker
exercises leadership inspired
massing forces across the vale
with support in plenty provided

the gunsmiths make the guns
the gun-handlers pass weapons along
the gun-runners deliver them
to gunners firing on song

on the field the trap-maker
casts nets and snares wide
able-bodies and deft-hands ready
to relieve the fallen and retired

the charging-mob is subdued
by strategy and power
out-flanked and out-thought
they charge prop then cower

injector-darts hit each target
unconscious they drop and fall
collected quickly from the field
be-gathered one and all

each beast is agentle-laid
weighed and length measured 
teeth and health are checked
body-secured then tethered

bio-tags are clipped to ears
before the waking beasts astir
safe-release is carefully planned
returned unharmed to where they were

across the remnant-wilderness
against disease and deceit
conservation-heroes monitor life 
resisting extinction and defeat

Today’s dVerse prompt is from Bjorn to use “kennings” or new compound words to create meaning in a poem as a way to continue the evolution of language. 

Poetry days #37

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Dreams

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Alleyway dream “Imagine 2030, a Melbourne where no one sleeps on the streets.” Mural artist Adnate.
There is no defence
dreams will come
dreams will come
where there seems no reference
there will be some
there is some

think deep and wonder what
is a dream 
a separate reality split at the seam
or a theme
streamed on moonbeams

telling a story
you might not have heard
guiding and reminding you
without literal word 
you might get it wrong
you might get it right 
paying attention to the night

because in dreams come the stories
whether happy or fraught 
of the life we are living
significant or short

Poetry days #37.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. Mural by Adnate. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Pokey

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Gumby’s friend, Pokey.

Poetry #21.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Wheat

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Wheat crop Nagambie, Victoria.
Millions of hectares and more
under the scorching sun
the ripening crop a massive store
of protein again begun
drying off yellowing
all one plant just one
finally ready for harvesting
ton after ton after ton

wheat rain heat
rain heat wheat
repeat

Poetry days #19.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

My velvet declaration of love – the kiss

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A love poem for my lovely wife. I should use the iPencil more often.

Poetry days #17.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Agitato

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Tank, Longwood, Victoria.

Poetry days #17. I wrote this during covid and can’t remember if it ever went onto the blog. Apologies if you have read it before and were looking forward to something new.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band – The Beatles

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Ref: Photos are of my copy of ‘Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band” by The Beatles. Songs written by John Lennon, Paul McCartney and George Harrison. All lyrics copyright 1967 for the world by Northern Songs Ltd. England. E. M. I. Records Parlophone (The Gramophone Co. Ltd.). Hayes – Middlesex – England. Made and printed in Great Britain. Produced by George Martin. Cover by M C Productions and The Apple. Staged by Peter Blake and Jann Horwarth photographed by Micael Cooper. Wax figures by Madame Tussauds. A splendid time is guaranteed for all.

The first song I remember on the radio went "yeah, yeah, yeah"
and I was hooked by The Beatles ever after
consequently I grew my hair, hair, hair
and started collecting their records with a passion
their sound, their humour, their fashion and flair
saw me seeking out everything about them
I kept stories and photographs in scrap books with care
each song, disc and artwork a gem

with Sgt Pepper came another cultural dare
vivid record store window displays everywhere
I would walk into the stores to simply stare
at the remarkable gatefold covers before me
the front was a collage of iconic people paired
with the centrefold image of musical royalty
the back was a lyric sheet with every song bared
the sleeve a psychedelic wave of pink glory
Sgt Pepper cardboard cutouts were such a fun share
and the concept all came together
in the music of this diverse alter ego so rare
that my musical interests exploded


Sgt Pepper anecdote note float
Being a child, I had no money to buy this masterpiece
the cover art alone had me longing for a copy
at least on the radio they let it play, play,  play
I listened, listened, listened
every day, day, day

when money was finally raised, raised, raised
enough to make my purchase
I rushed to the record store
I rushed to my home
I removed the inner sleeve
I gently slid out the immaculate shiny black vinyl disc 
I put the record on the turntable
I ever so carefully lowered the needle
I turned out the lights
I sat midway between the speakers
with the album cover on my lap
my head resting back
my eyes closed
and for the first time
I heard the whole album through 
'Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band' 
to 'A Day In the Life' ending with "Lucy Annie Allouette" (reversed tape repeating)
uninterrupted
floating high into this musical heaven created by musical gods
I was transported to a new world of artistic possibility
I praised, praised, praised

This week’s DVerse prompt is from Mish, Poetics: Inspired by Album Cover Art. I collect LPs as a hobby, so it was tough finding the right criteria for making a selection. But then I discovered I didn’t need to. The Sgt Pepper album cover is self selecting because it paved the way for everything wonderful that was to come. As much as I love all kinds of music and vinyl album art, it was The Beatles who paved the way for me.

Poetry Days #28

All poems are my own and subject to copyright. See the reference for cover art images sourced above. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Truth and beauty

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A sign, Talllangatta.
Each night I met a truthful man who never told a lie
of the future did he speak
of what would come, by and by

I spoke to him of beauty of all the colours I did spy 
of the art in human hands
of nature’s talk and saddening cry

we talked for many hours each eve until time came for us to leave
our evensong was together sung
for truth and beauty were as one

in truth humankind will wound the earth in ways terrifying and beautiful
in beauty nature will restore its worth
after humankind is stilled

Poetry days #13.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Dew

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Strathbogie sunrise
I accept the dew of early morn as through golden hour I walk
the brittle sun of dawn is come
to break on every dewy stem and stalk
an ascending wave it pushes away nights waning mantle of grey
seeking out each shaded hollow where the sprites of night still play

as my feet dampen and my spirits rise with every step I take
i feel the joy inside of me stir peacefully to fully awake
the first touch of warmth upon my skin bodes well for another day
i turn my face to far horizon where sun breaks cover with glorious rays

vivid pinks and yellows dress the sky in resplendent heavenly garb
the first full shafts of light to pierce the dew delight with rainbowed prisms and shards
they brush the earth with tantalising grace promise of the day to come
I consider that prospect as I return to the place where I came from

my home upon the hill does beckon lit in tones of gold
breakfast awaits and children’s smiles call me back to the fold
as I return in new light I reflect on mornings journey through rising mist
toward embracing tasks ahead, now worry off my list
as mornings clarity prepares me for the next path 
I am to tread
this moment of pure atmosphere  also readies me 
I am dewly led

Poetry days #12.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Entitlement

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Captured by ideas that stick 
neither ethical or vindicated
like viruses infecting common sense 
thinking cell irrationality is replicated

the brain within its box
looks normal the body functions well
but the expression of what is right
is a sign of a parasite from hell

a social disease spreads rampantly 
there is low resistance in the body politic 
the social contract also
breaks down weak and apathetic

sovereign individuals like zombies
run on a contagion spree
clogging the arteries of justice 
demanding parking fines for free

not subject to common law
they insist on being allowed to dump
their obligations and responsibilities
in the first available sump

the red flags are a waving
the warning lights are on the wall
of democracy is the engraving 
once lost it will always be gone

I look at the sovereign citizens and wonder
where they come from
their sense of self righteousness and injustice
must be an infection gone wrong

just like a raging microorganism
they inflame and wear and tear
in delirium 
the very system that supports them 
without hesitation, clear thought or care

Poetry days #11.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Mausoleum

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Untouched by day by moon unlit
cold resting place for those deemed fit
high rank and majesty interned in stone
where we wander wondering how alone
these lives and deaths were really spent 
kings and queens of this cold tent
dust to dust settles in this lifeless place
humanity lost from each rigid face
symbols of life symbols of death
no spark of life each lonely wraith
just like others humble, pauper or brave
their lives came to nought but another grave

Poetry days #10.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Birds

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a brown goshawk feasts on an grey shrike thrush behind the house
Each bird to its own
the cockatoos wheeling and complaining about the violent hand claps that have warned them off the fruit
I swear they’ll go hungry or find someone else’s trees to plunder

the blackbird dashing here and there
tossing up mulch and leaf litter from the garden beds every which way
then singing for their supper 
who could begrudge them with such sweet voice

the tiny silver eyes scouring the Japanese maples for tiny insects
darting from one bough to another twittering to each other as if conversation was never allowed a gap

the wild ducks patrolling the grass
mama papa and nine waddling ducklings 
who alternate between a confident swagger and animated scurry to parental shelter when too far astray

the chiming grey shrike thrushes sending their musical calls to each other 
gladdening the hearts of everyone in acoustic range 
adding their friendly company to garden diggers and verandah sitters with books in hand

the magpie family units patrolling the grounds for prey
maturing juveniles wrestling on granite pavements  practicing nesting with twigs and twine stolen from the vege patch
constantly whining and dining at mums beak

the multi coloured rosellas in flocks of crimson, green and metal blue
nipping seed heads from the grass flashing colour into the sky
making the landscape a vivid tapestry
bell chiming to each other from tree to tree

the twitching turning ever restless honeyeaters constantly on the wing
eastern spine bills diving into blossoms with curved needle beaks
new hollands darting and diving with gusto at every intruder
wattle birds holding all at bay or aggressively chasing them away

the hopping bower birds establishing their flock
with growing numbers and inquisitiveness staking their ground
atop water bowls and into every ripening fruit they can steal their strong stubby beaks ready to stab and peel

the soaring raptors spiralling aloft on the wind
keen eyes of the hunter for anything that moves
diving like a deadly missile from heaven above 
to capture a rodent, a rabbit or unaware dove

Poetry days #09.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.

Autumn at Alfred Nick

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There is a garden in the Dandenong Ranges
I call it Alfred Nick
after its long departed owner 
who bequeathed it to our state

There are many gardens in the Ranges
but this one is the pick
of autumnal Ranges' splendour
vivid colour above 
below lying thick

I drive the winding roads most every autumn
with camera in my hand
at the gates I pause
deeply breathe crisp mountain air
in anticipation of trees so grand

there is a lake in the Ranges
in the garden I call Alfred Nick
in autumn leaves make artful arrangements
on the surface 
ephemeral so be quick

in this magical place full of growth and life
the photography is opportunistic
where human design and nature's creations
blend native, exotic and mystic
where ethereal mists linger and clear
for ambient blur and clarity rarely seen
in one place at one time 
without ever repeating

every visit is unique
every visit is a joy
every vista a delight
reigniting the spark in 
every nature loving 
man, woman, girl and boy

For this week’s dVerse prompt Punam has asked we poets to write of autumn. My favourite season. The prompt speaks of love, so I present one of my autumn loves – Alfred Nicholas Gardens in Victoria’s Dandenong Ranges.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.