A Surrealist Rhyme for Erik

as I ascended clouds hid the way
I clipped their wings with shears of grey
The telescope told me I must act
Whispering of star falls and moonrise attack
I reflected on the power I lacked
I must net time and hold it back
the home I could lose the ground where I stood
solid as rock shapable as wood
saw me wretched with fear indecisive and torn
was this last of days the final morn?
So I took my sharpest pencil my notebook red
wrapped my head in wool to drown out the dead
in their bottle on the waves above the seabed.
I went to the library to learn from the books
how to save the moon from destructive skyhooks 
the learning was crystal clear as a diamond
shards came together for this ignorant vagabond
I knew what to do I knew it was right
to save moon and world I had to take flight 
I set my glider to fly from an open window 
when the sun’s mellow light fades to soft evening glow
I leapt on board to find rising fresh air
but all that I found was a down draft there 
and I fell to the earth as so many more
I resolved to try again but not like before.
A path to nearby mountains was a long weary trek
if I ramped it straight upward I could launch like a jet
but the weight of the world again dragged me down
into glass houses I crashed with a moan
so I built giant steps on which I climbed high 
to take the moon down from the sky. 
As I ascended clouds hid the way
I clipped their wings with shears of grey
the stars came to guide me as I climbed and climbed
pushing ever upward was all on my mind
until the way was clear the view up ahead
was one of the moon on a black velvet bed
a moon barely rising still held in sleep’s sway
a moon reluctant to hear my story let us say
so I sweet talked that moon with promises and bribes
offering pleasurable time on earth in which to imbibe
the moon gave a yawn looked up and looked down
asked if I was prophet, conman or clown?
requested some proof what I had to say was true
for it could hear only nonsense hard to construe
so I pointed to the black heavens where no starlight glowed 
the moon was astonished then concerned and then bowed
I will go with you to spend time on earth 
while threats to the skies are beaten and dispersed
I will rise again when the stars once more burn
to light the night sky with starlight returned.
Moon sank into the ocean for a seaside holiday
destruction avoided with the moon at play
the culprits attacked night to find nothing but vacuum
and the cow in the sky scooped them up with a spoon.

This week Mish asked we poets to write from a gallery of surrealist photographer Erik Johansson’s images. Find the prompt here:
https://dversepoets.com/2023/05/09/poetics-slipping-into-surrealism-with-erik-johansson/

Roderick

Roderick was into sleeping.
He went to bed because in his head
he was boring.
No one noticed his time asleep.
He’d been gone a year and week,
which suggests he was quite boring.
He’d been lying in bed day after day,
when someone wondered, then went on to say,
“Where’s Roderick?”
They found him asleep and snoring.

Then they said how long it took
to find him in his tiny nook.
He quietly stated that he mistook
the year and week for one nice long sleep
convinced it was just the next morning.

Only getting up to go to the toilet,
his face was pale, eyes crusty and set.
At some time his beard he’d wrapped into
a bun, his idea of having a small bit of fun
to deal with the cold and no nightcap instead
he wrapped it around his balding head.
They all said how odd he looked.
He replied it was heat restoring.

With no one to talk to and no tv,
Roderick had slept all of that time restfully.
In his small dark room where day remained night
where awake was tedious and without delight.
When Roderick woke to that knock on the door,
a voice had asked, “Roderick, would you like to sleep more?”
Roderick never felt better than when he was sleeping
so to sleep again he went as night came creeping.
Never was he or others so content
than when Roderick slept and time simply went
another year until Roderick’s next dawning.

Discover your heart

Young cloud
prisoner of a turbulent sky
look inward
discover your heart
fly on
to find an open window
sail away
on the wings
of your desire
to other skies
clear and serene

RIP Broderick Smith.

Broderick Smith has died. He has had his time as we all will in the end, but unlike many of us he has left something special behind that will continue to be enjoyed. His legacy is uniquely Australian blues, boogie, country and rock music.

When I first heard the album “Blown” by Carson it was a revelation. That blues and boogie broke through the pop standards of the day to introduce me to a fascinating new range of genres.

When the Dingoes released their self titled album Brod was there again up front. They set the standard for an era of Australian standards. Classic Aussie popular music telling classic Australian stories.

We last saw him solo at the Elwood Hotel some 30 years ago. Still got the CD we bought from him there with that lovely “Snow blind moon” on it.

As another creative person whose music has reached into me passes, I just want to give thanks for his presence, creativity and of course the music. Musicians such as Broderick Smith have added so much value to my life. I will continue to value that gift and be thankful.

Good Things Only #17

It has been a while since I have embarked on a GTO (or much in the way of creative writing at all for that matter). I have been otherwise occupied. Why? Happily, the reason is the subject of this GTO.

In retirement I developed my habits of walking, cycling and writing into something more like lifestyle choices. Combined with photography, I found myself outside often, roaming in new places, observing with pleasure, feeling fortunate and interested in the many ways and forms of life and ecosystems around me. It costs little, the prep is fun, the exercise is great and every outing opens your eyes that much wider and your mind expands that much further and you just feel good.

I found myself privileged. Here in Victoria there are so many diverse natural places to savour. Even where environmental degradation has occurred there is often evidence life will find a way. (Whether with or without humans takes on less and less significance exploring as an individual. You barely register on the scale of things so you don’t matter one little bit. You are simply lucky to be there and to bear witness).

I started mapping, photographing and describing these places for others to share. It seemed a good retirement project – to spread the feelings of well being experienced in diverse green spaces . To identify low cost beneficial outdoor activities for other people. To put walkers in these spaces as discoverers of beauty and advocates for deterring misuse and champions of habitat improvement.

Since then I have been asked to transform this hobby into project work for local government and a health promotion charity. As grateful for such opportunities as I am, and as good as that has been, I now finally get to the specific subject of this GTO.

Over the past six months I have been working on a new and wonderful project: “Walking and Rolling: accessible walking paths for people with disability”. Our inclusive team has co-designed an audit tool for assessing walking paths for accessibility. I have been co-auditing accessible walks beside people with disability.

We launched the first 24 Victorian accessible walks last week in a joyful celebration on a glorious day. We have made the audit tool publicly available as a free to use resource for people with disability, carers, families and land managers to do their own assessments and publish accessible walks they identify. Accessible walks are for everyone. There are more to come.

This is an incredibly worthy GTO for me to have fallen into. To my colleagues and the people with disability who have helped make this happen, I will be appreciative to the end of my days. In the meantime, let’s keep going!

I did it for my babies

I sobbed while I banged my head on the dock
I lit the fuse tick tock tick rock
With nowhere to go I ran amok
because I knew no one gave a fuck

and my children died inside the conflagration
while outside I died as a witness stationed
to watch this act as the ultimate martyr
from lover to mother to miserable failure

now my babies don’t suffer anymore don’t you see?
their loss was my hope for my babies three
their release from torment my relief and my grief
I their life giver corrupter and thief

I scratched at the doors where help is the word
I pleaded for help and not one cry was heard
I make no further excuses for this desperate crime
judge me oh judge me and I’ll do my time

but I urge you who judge to stop and reflect
on the festering harm of abuse and neglect
on how absence of care equals opportunity cost
from pitiful existence my babies were lost


As dry as the land

Night’s last lingering cool breath
Marks the beginning of the end
As we rouse and arouse
Sleepily rising and realising
This cannot, must not, ever happen again

Bidding farewell to the events of the dark
With butterfly kisses and nuzzles
Tears of grief dwell, well and fall
As we own everything and commit to nothing more

For the first time, the last time we lie together
We listen in silence as another day’s hot outback wind
Begins to worry the doors and windows
And again rattle at the foundations of our lives

It’s the same drought wind that has been blowing forever
Forever keeping us apart no matter how much we lean into it
It keeps blowing us backwards to where we came from
It marks our passing back into life as it really is
Demanding and obligating with survival at its core
As dry as the land, as gritty as the sand

Bruised

I’m feeling a little bruised
a little rushed a little used
when you turn your whip like tongue on me
a little crushed and very confused

when you say that I’m not worth it
yet you keep on coming back
I decide that I’ll stick with it
and then you call me slack

yes I’m a sucker for punishment
my friends all tell me that
but really I’m a sucker for nourishment
I pray for it after every spat

I hate you and I love you
I tell you and relent
then you diss me and you kiss me
never knowing what each one meant

you don’t hit me or spit on me
you don’t go out with another
you just discard me like a soiled rag
whenever you think I’m a bother

then you take me back when it suits
knowing you'll always have the boots
to stand over me til I breakdown
to abuse me when I meltdown

I crave to be better, yet I'm a weak nag
always with one hand reaching for an escape bag
but I turn back from every open door
I pathetically keep coming back for more

then as I slide down every jamb
lamb to slaughter, slaughtered lamb
self esteem slides with me, to the floor we sag
and I gag and I gag and I gag

I see myself for what I have become
I know I'm not the only one
It isn't something helpful to know
others also powerless if they stay, powerless to go

Impacts of planned burns on the Southern Greater Glider

bertbohosouth's avatarOur Strathbogie Forest

This planned burn scorched the canopy, collapsed habitat trees and burnt through gullies

Importance of Strathbogie State Forest for the Greater Glider

The 24,000 ha Strathbogie State Forest in north-east Victoria was declared an Immediate Protection Area (IPA) by the Victorian Government in November 2019 on the basis of its state-wide importance as habitat for the nationally endangered Southern Greater Glider.  This declaration formed part of the recommended conservation actions in the Action Statement prepared for this species under the Flora and Fauna Guarantee Act to help ensure its survival (DELWP 2019). 

2023 Greater Glider surveys

Areas scheduled for burning in 2023 are known to contain critical habitat for Greater Glider (see full report below), however Greater Glider occupancy in some of these areas prior to 2023 was poorly known. We have conducted nocturnal surveys in several of the burn areas.

Results of these surveys re-emphasize the…

View original post 305 more words

My first American sentence

Deep, deep in the forest where man is not known there is no good or bad.

  1. One line
  2. Seventeen syllables
  3. Condensed, no unnecessary words or articles
  4. Includes a turn or enlightenment

Thank you David Ben Alexander (and Allen Ginsberg) for alerting me to new forms of haiku.

Mary’s haiku

to eternity
heartbeat of the haunted self
ghost of broken trust

blaze

slow
anger
infiltrates
expands like smoke
explodes into furious rage
scorches and burns all it touches
then dissolves 
into shame and misery

Greens Hill Walk, Winton Wetlands

I am currently mapping walks in the extensive Winton Wetlands. Greens Hill is one of my favourites. See the full Victoria Walks walkingmaps version here: Greens Hill Walk

heart beats weep

picture eternity as every single
heart beat of every haunted soul
each a phantom of broken trust
blind to yesterday
yet still weeping 
ghostly desires
always lingering
cold and deep
persisting
and never 
embraced

Heron Loop Walk, Winton Wetlands

The most recent walk from my work for Winton Wetlands. For the full Victoria Walks version use this link: Heron Loop Walk

blush

blush from the belly up
smile 
with sincerity
you will create trust

speak from your heart
truly
with transparency 
you will enjoy respect

abandon preconceptions
listen 
to hear
you will bring joy

Woodland Walk, Winton Wetlands

The most recent walk I have mapped in Winton Wetlands. View the full version on Victoria Walks walkingmaps here: Woodland Walk

Colours of the seasons

My colour was autumn 
in a fading colour kind of way
as I scrambled for more time
as time slipped away

then my colour was winter
cold bleak and grey
the shortening of daylight
gave more night than day

when my colour was spring
and more light filled the air
I felt for a green time
my happiness was there

but my colour became summer
coming in bright yellow hues
til the landscapes went dry
sun extracted summer dues

now my colour is a rainbow
arching over seasons
casting no shadow
coloured joy without reason

Spicing it up

Basil had finally arrived
in Arizona dreaming
of repeating Krakow nights
with his saffron love,
Garam Masala.

After leaving sunny Paris
they had spent thyme 
watching Tuscan sunsets
before mulling spices
into a mural of flavour 
for adding some Aleppo pepper
to their long awaited reunion.

Laced with dill,
pickled appetisers set
a savouring mood 
for their evening

Cumin, coriander paprika
zatar and mustard seeds
ensured the main meal
was saucy, spicy and hot.

Sea salt, lemon grass 
fennel and sesame seeds
added potentcy to the salad

Nutmeg, cinnamon and vanilla
heightened their senses
throughout dessert.

By the end of the meal
they were ravenous
for the after dinner mints.

Merril set this week’s dVerse prompt for we poets to spice things up using at least three of twenty-five listed herbs, spices, flavors, and spice combinations. For a bit of fun, I chose to cook up something that used them all.

blue you blue hue

blue poetry
as blue as you
change the shade
from deep dark blue
to blue sky blue
change the hue
write your due
write true

(fridge poetry)

Mokoan Ponds Walk, Winton Wetlands

A new walk I have published on Victoria Walks walkingmaps. You can see the full version here: Mokoan Ponds Walk

Any door every door

One of the strange houses of Lee Madgwick

Today’s dVerse prompt was to undertake a very interesting ekphrastic challenge from Sarah. Sarah asked we dVerse poets to choose one of five fascinating images created by UK artiist Lee Madgwick . I chose the image displayed above.

How many times do you step through a door and
that decision changes the course of your life?
How many times?

You step through a door and
whether you know which way you are going or not
that decision changes the course of your life.
Many times.

You look through open doors and glass doors and
the view beyond each threshold can look better
much better with broad vistas of more promise 
than the narrow one in which you are standing.
You are a stand in
many, some days, every time.
How many times do you go through these doors
to where the grass is greener?
Many times.

You look through closed doors, opaque, the cracks and 
keyholes of doors
to wild skies of threatening, black clouds, heavy and 
threatening cloud banks of stormy weather
oppressive and threatening with worse to come
you know it will be worse for at least a time
many, some days, every time.
But still, consider.
How many times do you go through these doors?
Many times.

How do you choose which door opens 
to the best passage for the rest of your life?
The green of desire or of envy,
the passing black of fear or courage?
There are no obvious silver linings.
The lines are not clear.
Can you say your lines?
Your lines are not clear.
There are no obvious wishes to guide you.
Your wishes are not clear.
Can you articulate your wishes?
When will you wish honesty for yourself?
When honesty is a necessity?
Don’t close that door.

When is the right time?
Or the right place?
Or do you bother to choose at all?
When the right door opens for you?
Even when no choice is always a choice and
change will come regardless.
Change will come.
You know this.
Do you know this well enough by
understanding there is only luck at play?
Only luck is at play.
Do you know this?
You might not know this.

How often do those doors that are closed to you and 
blank with no offerings
get ignored because there is no obvious gain for you?
You walk past new worlds of wonder and peril everyday.
All the time.
Any door every door any time every time.
Every step is a decision.
Every decision is one to please, regret, grieve or rejoice. 
At the time or
in time.

But, you never know and
that is the reason for looking at doors
any door and every door
and always wondering about going through
into some place else. 
It should never be otherwise because
time is linear and time is limited.
All doors are only one door 
any door every door
in front of you when and where ever you are. 

And each door has its own nature
protecting you from the elements
or exposing you
locking you in 
locking you out
shutting quietly behind you 
slamming in your face 
creaking with foreboding or
letting in the fresh air.

You my be attracted by doors to the light.
It seeps in around the edges and under the woodwork and
you think to be in the light must be a good
place to be, you cross that threshold.
That threshold will be crossed.
to find a good place to be,
And sometimes it is a desert, a blazing sun, a hot, dry furnace and 
you retreat desperate with thirst, burned and changed.
Other times it is a moonlit field and you run through the soft green grass
before realising you have strayed enough to
never return to be the same person.
Does either door scare you?
Are you scared?
Hope is the latch, fear is the key.
Finding a way to use them
is finding a way to be.
You never have to stray far from yourself to change.
Crossing that threshold is no distance at all.
One that can take you al long way.
Crossing that threshold.
You are changed forever every time.
Many times.

Any door every door any time every time
go through. 
You change so the world changes
You change me and everyone else irrevocably.
You change us all.
All of us change.
Neither you nor I, neither will we and 
us ever be the same we, you and I.
For passing through any door every time will change 
us here and now in time.
The person you thought I was is no longer mine.
The person I thought was you is no longer in time.
The world changes instantly every time without design.
We pass through many doors many times.

How many times do you step through a door and
that decision changes the course of your life?
How many times?

You step through a door and
whether you know which way you are going or not
that decision changes the course of your life.
Many times.