Tableland Talk November 2023
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Tableland Talk October 2023
Walking in the evening
I'm walking in the evening smelling all the sounds I'm strolling through the gloaming Doing my enchantment rounds I'm catching all the moonbeams and putting them in my pocket Remembering fondly daydreams Preparing days last docket The path is lit so brightly in silver and dappled grey The water sprites dance lightly on moonlit water spray And where the cascading creek pools calmly at my feet it reflects the Milky Way I'm walking in the evening Hearing all that I can see I sense the bobuck in the tree before the bobuck senses me A tawny frogmouth silhouettes against a star bright sky With silent flight of no regret his dive is only heard by eye White shades of cockatoos perch ghostly in pairs aloft Crests rising to the "Who? Who?" of the barn owl in near croft A mother koala briefly joins me on her own purposeful path Her joey clinging grimly to her shoulders makes me laugh And then a cool spring breeze tousles my hair as if to please and praise my meandering task I'm walking in the evening touching scents borne on air I'm feeling all I'm feeling I'm shedding care by care Honeysuckle's sweet subtle breath permeates all around Bullrushes whisper secrets kept Chocolate lilies abound The swamp gum rustles above me The peppermint towers high The snow gum looks so lovely as I tread quietly by Flowering gums are tipped with fairy tutus The manna creaks as it sways All sprinkle the night with eucalyptus scent whispering to the wind, “Australian bush” they say And then on the horizon I see my home It calls me from my roaming To sit in darkness without a sound I savour all the night has shown me while walking in the evening
This week the d’verse prompt is from Lillian. She asks we poets to, “Take a walk with me.” You can view the full prompt here https://dversepoets.com/2023/09/05/take-a-walk-with-me/ I have chosen to rework a poem from a while ago that reflects on walks in the evening near my home. I hope you enjoyed walking with me.
Save our Strathbogie Forest (SOSF)
On Sunday we gathered at the giant Messmates in Strathbogie Forest to launch the Save Our Strathbogie Forest Action Group’s chuffed.org crowdfunding campaign. This campaign is in support of the Save Our Strathbogie Forest legal challenge to stop DEECA and FFMV burning endangered Greater Glider habitat. Strathbogie Forest is amongst the best Greater Glider habitat in the country. These Victorian Government Departments want to burn precious habitat there without reasonable justification.
You can donate here: https://chuffed.org/project/strathbogieforest-legal-action
Strathbogie has SPOKEN
On a shoot with Michael
Tableland Talk September 2023
Despite my best intentions I have failed to deliver the small monthly newsletter I edit for our community to my blog since May. In fact, I have failed to deliver anything to my blog since May! Let’s just say there has been a lot of other stuff happening. I am happy to say I have continued delivering Tableland Talk to our community nonetheless. Now it is time to re-establish myself here in this favourite space.
One of the things I have been involved in has been working with the Strathbogie Tableland Action Group Communications sub committee on our community web site http://www.strathbogie.org This work is entirely managed and maintained by volunteers. It might not have all the bells and whistles, but it has merit. If you have missed TT in your life you will find the current and all back issues here – so take a look.
faceless
I got what I wanted
lost everything I had
what can I say
What can I do?
the faceless ones
took everything
including
you
From the heights
of the mountains
behind oslo
to the depths of despair
inseine
enparis
to be redeemed
after death alone
leaves me faceless
faithless
the impressions that i left
kept me away from you
reducing you to
faceless
along with your
faceless
crew
Today Lillian prompted we poets with works by an artist rejected by his country (Norway) Thorvald Hellesen. I chose this portrait of Mary Alice Eckbo because I felt it had great detail where there is none overtly apparent – as symbolised by the faceless Cubist impression that has been created. I really liked this artist’s work. It is hard to see how it was not recognised by his fellow Norwegians. You can find the prompt here https://dversepoets.com/2023/05/23/an-artist-gets-his-due/
The bottomless sea
swimming to the bottom of the bottomless sea
won’t you come and swim with me?
it’s the only place they’ll let us be
when we get to the bottom we’ll be free
just you and me and the bottomless sea
outa her mind
telling stories
of phantom glories
looking over her shoulder
smirking until I cry
beating on the table
playing I Spy
wondering who’s there
saying it’s fine
working in montage
death and decline
definitely hers
probably mine
twitching of the wrist
pumping of the fist
batting of the eyelids
passionate kiss
vicious kick
full cheek lick
what makes her tick
she’s a bomb
Holy
They told me I was holy I believed them Everything changed from there I knew what to say and how to say it I knew where to go and who to speak too And my messages of love served me well as I travelled the world gathering souls At first I thought I was on a mission Then the mission became a privilege I could bring light into the darkness Lift the blanket of shadow over the world Simply by saying the word Simply by telling everyone what they already knew Regardless of their inability to act I told them for a better world they must overcome self interest Then I saw the truth How important my own self interest had become If I was to be able to continue doing such good and noble work love was the word and they loved me while I loved adulation Prayer was empowerment They prayed, I played It was a perfect match of preacher and congregation Idolatry, narcissism and hedonism The spiritual demands of today’s society thereby being well met
A Surrealist Rhyme for Erik
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/
Healing
Explore your broken soul.
Remember healing is peace.
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.
Tableland Talk April 2023
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
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.
- One line
- Seventeen syllables
- Condensed, no unnecessary words or articles
- 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
question
Aside
rather than complain loudly, question quietly with determination
poetography.ink 