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In Forests #02
What is it the forest says to me?
It says, “Dive in deep and gleefully!”
and oh I do so like to take that advice
because diving into a forest is oh so nice
I approach the edge excited each time
because when forest bathing the time is all mine
nearing the forest the world changes scale and shape
new dimensions appear: from 2D to 3D, into 4D I leap
as the colours of tree thin lands fade out behind me
the colours of the forest grow ever richer to see
and time seems to stop while immersed in this place
as the harshness of cities is quickly replaced
by the soft light of beauty and amazing grace
the smells of the flora the anticipation of wildlife
the moisture in the air the freedom the relief
where I walk in peace awestruck and at my own pace
where I find so many reasons to pause and marvel in this space
I belong in the forest it puts smiles on my face
it slows me it soothes me it relieves me of haste
it gives me adventures I would never otherwise find
it welcomes and embraces me and I return all in kind
I embrace the ground cover the mid story and canopy
I welcome every insect bird and animal I see
I soak up the sights of mosses lichen and fungi
the waterways the water aquatic life and algae
and I think if this is heaven in heaven I want to be
because then heaven is on earth to revere joyfully
Today’s d’Verse prompt is from Lillian: write a poem that somehow mentions, is set in, or is motivated by the woods / forest. As I hope you can see, I like nothing better than to spend time walking in forests.
Run river red run dry run dead
In the Valley there are few trees now
since white settlement the river gums have bled
steadily back into ever depleting soil
the dehydrating sap bleeding red
some majestic sentinels remain
on final watch across the floodplain
of gritty dust and cropped introduced grasses
as the parade of indigenous extinction passes
withdrawing from the flats
retreating across the hills
ascending to heaven after suffering grave ills
and the broken remnains of centuries of trees
stand skeletal or lie shattered on the ground
as if awaiting a last chance for redemption
after each falling whoosh and final thump of sound
in atonement for overseeing the loss of forest
they crave to protect their young who escape the cut
of plough or chainsaw or grazing teeth they
enfold survivors in fractured parental branches
fostering the roots beneath
attempting nurture of trunk and leaf
but they have nothing left to bequeath
to young individuals left standing exposed
to sadly age in grief
witness to a parasitic human occupation
a relentless quest by the future’s thief
Scared of the new summer
It makes pleasurable sense to live in the country
but I am apprehensive about what it means
when the blistering sun and a searing north wind
are set to scorch the earth when they rise again
I am scared of the new summer on days like these
marked for worsening catastrophes
where shimmering heat on the horizon it seems
prefaces the burning of landscapes by fire destined
to scour every countryside rise and glen
I feel the new summer fear rise again
I am scared of the new summer as you should be
when severe climate change dictates choice and activity
Greta
What can you say our young assertive one
with the voice of an innocent and every reason to come
to the land of the people with the frozen tongues
did you hear the voices trapped in the throats of the speakers
the truthsayers the protesters the dumb and the seekers
what will you say my naive one
as a voice for the reticent who want to save their home
where no voices are heard and no listening is done
did you crack the blank shields of the riot police abashing
when your truth and your statements of the obvious were clashing
with the public dialogue of denial that’s in fashion
what do you now see my prescient soul
a world that is scared yet loudly condemning your role
contradiction abounds around what’s believed and is told
but you won’t close your mind your mouth or be controlled
because the need is the need of a world being sold
where ascendant rejections of science’s findings
carry weight disproportionate to tomorrow’s unwinding
and the hope that was youth falls to systemic undermining
I hope that you stand up to the relentless grinding
for across the world there are still people who need you
to attack all the arguments of denial so feeble
they still rise to smother the planet in chaos and evil
but for your pluck and your courage your ability to needle
it does provide a check with words that are real
and challenges others to rise too and reveal
the lies and deception the denialists conceal
I hope and I wish you can change how they feel
what will you say next our young assertive one
If you didn't pick it up the rhythm is sort of set to Bob Dylan's A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall
Mud
This river of mud
it comes to no good
when it spreads on the plains
or surges through the woods
when it rises in the towns
or breaks dams where it would
this river of mud
is never any good
they throw the mud
they make the mud stick
weather
whether there is mud to throw
splattered thin or cement thick
and I see the mud
it makes me feel sick
a vitriolic flood
of slander and lies
sinking reasonable opposition
no due process applies
Cloudy
Sunrise and the clouds are silver, gold, pink or the brightest of whites
they promise new beginnings and I believe them
I say goodbye to the night
and the day is full of all that might be
sun fringed clouds speak of good fortune and hope
when I raise my eyes to see them things start looking up
silver linings
dark clouds rising are mysterious and foreboding
what danger is imminent?
how will it affect me?
I become watchful
ah, today black clouds shadow my father's angry face
it’s time to make myself scarce
there is no doubt about the turbulence ahead
for mother and me it’s time to flee the storm to come
I am grateful
the clouds have lifted from our little home
the windows and doors are open
fresh air has once again surged through and purged too
my little window looks to the sky
there are omens in the various shapes passing by
I watch them, they guide me
to more thoughts of what is to come by and by
Xanthorea
It's good to see ya Xanthorea
gathering in the forest
your handsome forms and spiky hair
well combed to keep you modest
your food laden tail of unrivalled scale
flags you as altruist unprejudiced
your coming together in all kinds of weather
shows how best to coexist
your invisible feet step slow and repeat
toward timely arrival for greetings and meetings
you are never late with your shuffling gait
your committee nothing short of enchanting
it leaves room aplenty for your language of rhyme
to talk things through and determine what is true
resolving prime issues one at a time
until everything works out absolutely conclusively perfectly fine
still life in the bush
sometimes an image strikes you
before you even take it
still life in the bush
make it!
Photography days #32.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Tableland walking
Walking Boundary Hill Road in dappled sun
from the Mannas and Blue Gums lining the run
the trees are magnificent and so is the landscape
when you are walking here the feeling is great
Photography days #30.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Witness
We witness their leaving like smoke in the wind
the wildlife departure impossible to rescind
following First Nations people out of the bush
into memory alone at an increasing rush
when we came here there were many koalas just 16 years ago
now their sighting is uncommon as they falter and go
and the freshwater crays I haven’t seen for five years
the metal blue of their backs absent - extinction fears
there once was a blackfish but it also is gone
from the spring creek below us it once called home
and the robins are fewer where they once dominated
the platypus just hanging on from being eradicated
I’m sure the list is much longer but what more can one do
than try to protect what is left sheltered in a zoo
more people and cars, disease, cats, foxes, more stock
more land cleared, less native food, climate change, ticking clock
we should know better but our efforts are weak
we talk local but the world must now deliver what we seek
Poetry days #30.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
The environmentalist
At the close of day
He looks around and says
Today was a very good day
Because on another day to come
This bare hill will be a forest of trees
Photography 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.
Accessible walks are for everyone
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.
Three Yellow-tailed black cockatoos
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.
A springtime view from Boundary Hill
Bucolic scenes
the stuff of dreams
where farmland meets
bushland seats
Photography days #21.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Spin
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
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.
Doing #02
If he, she or they can choose to do something pleasing or satisfying, it is quite likely that you can choose to do something pleasing or satisfying too.
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
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.
The Balconies
This ancient place
of an ancient race
is nature's gallery
viewed from a balcony
Photography 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.
Truth and beauty
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
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.
Wombolano
A dreamy filter diffuses the sun
path, walking and sun all become one
the foliage the light the green and the gold
wombolano morning a sight to behold
Photography 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.
Mt Stirling, Victoria
Photography 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.
Snowline
for the clearest view
here's what to do
climb the highest mountain
to just above the snowline
where the trees fade away
on a clear blue day
Photography 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.
poetography.ink 