Tag Archives: environment

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.

Mountain man

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Cathedral Range, Victoria
Of the mountains 
of the peaks
of the hills and valleys steep

I the mountain
man of woodland
keep my forest keep

in the rivers 
in the lakes
in the waters deep

I bathe and water
fish for supper
pull my oars asweep

i am a hunter
and life preserver 
at loss in grief I weep

at end of day
abed I lay
to drop to restful sleep

Poetry days #07.

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

Wetlands watching

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Birding at Winton Wetlands
we look this way
we look that
we raise our binoculars
we have a chat
we love the birds
everywhere we see
delightful birds
we watch with glee

Poetry days #07.

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

Sunshine v breeze

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Incoming summer rain, Boho South
Fierce sunshine challenges an emerging breeze,
"Take me on if you will, my radiant expertise".
Breeze stays gentle, slowly brings summer rain.
"Well sunshine, would you challenge me again?"

Poetry days #04.

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

Rainbow

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Double rainbow and squall, Gobur
A rainbow cast its arcing spell
across the horizon from hill to dell
sweet colours did the people see
I saw an enchanted mystery

from where I stood the vivid arch
did move as I moved across the path
no matter how I tried to catch its base
it slipped from me with every pace

I could not solve this riddle before me
for it faded, just as magically
as it appeared in pastel splendour
and so my query had to end there

Poetry days #03.

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

Red back pack

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Sandy Beach Creek, Bournda National Park
The red back pack was already second hand
bought cheap from an opp shop by a hiking man
it’s straps were a bit frayed
it’s colour a bit faded
the brand now out of favour
but it still had years of wear

there were pockets for liquidity 
and pockets for your water 
pockets for snacks 
and a wear pocket for nadir 
but if you kept that pocket closed 
there was nothing there to fear
there were pockets for your clothing
pockets for rain and sleeping gear

there was a pocket for a journal 
and a way to quickly reach a camera
because recording of life’s journey 
involves equipment for ephemera

it had seen through a lot of windows
it had been through many a door
it had heard so many a tales
it couldn’t remember them all anymore
it had walked the tracks and trails
of many countries around the globe
such that it's experiences 
never felt far from home

but it was ready for new adventures 
to be up and about again
it was only a matter of time
before the hiking man said when

Poetry days #02.

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

Goodenia Rainforest, New South Wales

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Everything is food and food is everything.
Shafts of sunlight break up the gloom
into luminous green rainforest rooms
every moist step and touch of the earth
another experience of the wonder of life

Photography days #05. You can find the Goodenia walking map and description online at Victoria Walks: https://walkingmaps.com.au/walk/5756

All work is my own and copyright applies. I do not use AI. I do not wish for AI to use my work.

Bournda National Park walking

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For the full map and description I have published on Victoria Walks’ walking maps click here: https://walkingmaps.com.au/walk/5755

Photography days #04. All work is my own. I do not use AI.

Mirror mirror

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White-faced heron, Edwardes Lake
Just confirming I'm the right bird in the right place
Lakeside - check
Reed beds - check
Tasty aquatic life - check
Big grey bird, yellow legs, long neck, spear like beak, white face.

This photo was taken while creating a lakeside accessible walking map for people who use mobility aids. You can view it here: Edwardes Lake Accessible Walk.

Photography days #03. All work is my own. I do not use AI.

Strathbogie Ranges tracks and trails #01

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Walking the Strathbogie Ranges has many rewards. The landscapes, waterways and native flora are simply beautiful.

A gallery of 10 images. To see the full photos click an image, then use the arrows to scroll.

Unconvinced of spring

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I am unconvinced of spring
for winter still is here
despite the dates
there’s fire in grates 
and a chill wind cold and clear

no green shoots have emerged 
in fact the ground is bare
not moist and soft,but hard and dry
grass brown from frost and rare 

the birds are still very quiet
the animals briefly appear
the skies are heavy and silent
rain and sleet is always near

clothes are layered and warm
boots are waterproof and thick
beanies and hats are permanent
raincoats and parkas are slick

and in amongst this extension
of winter into spring
I just want to mention
this weather makes me sing

Apologies dVerse - I linked the wrong poem. Try the next one.

Banksia

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Feeling jaded I walked around the block on one of those particularly clean and crisp Melbourne autumn mornings
the type only Melbourne seems to have
the sun was bright and immersively warm every time you emerged from cold dark shadows
the sky was a spectacular sky blue blue blue all the way to the top
everything was precisely defined like it had been edged with the blackest finest fine liner pen 
I found a banksia bud on the ground and picked it up for closer examination
nature had loaded it with deep brown lidded eyes in a repeating pattern designed to go on forever
lighter brown probosci with vivid tan tips emerged from between each eye and the nett result was glorious
awe and wonder 
jaded faded

Timbertop Saddle – Mt Timbertop summit walk (return)

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This is a fantastic day walk in the Victoria High County near Mansfield. Autumn laid on a delightful smorgasbord of wildflowers and clear skies. For the full map, photos and description see my online publication here: https://walkingmaps.com.au/walk/5822

Built

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Natural places struggle to survive man’s built environment – Albert Park Lake, Melbourne
Man
built over grassland
built into sky
built atop mountains
to nature defy
built into forest
built under water 
built in the desert
built bricks and mortar
built with cut wood
built with the earth
never understood
non stop building is death

every built patch a carnage
every built patch an ending
every built patch a destruction of what nature would have seen
every built patch an obliteration of what nature could have been

The old bridge

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Bridge over the Seven Creeks
This crumbling old bridge was once an entrance to the town
but these days another road goes another way around
and the old bridge isn't even a walking bridge today
as its rotten frame collapses in an advanced state of decay
I'd like to see we walkers reclaim this historic bridge and road
reimagined and rebuilt it would easily take that load 
we would walk both sides of the water accessed by its span
travel both embankments knowing we safely can
return by the old bridge to where we began to roam
enjoying nature's reclaimed beauty right here by our town



Forest paths

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Plenty River Gorge riparian forest
True forest paths are not seen
but felt
it is fair to say
the engineered tracks
of man are just a gash
of impudent human display

observe the busy insects
fly passages through the air
they’ll not prop
at copse or rock
they will find their own way there

and the animals
patter many trails
with a purpose we often guess not ken
they wend their way
over hill and dale
then back home again
with nary a blight
touch the landscape so light
could we aspire to accomplish
this when

our heavy footprint
leaves such a dent
on hillside, plain and fen 

such a blight 
such an intrusive pity
the forest is sliced 
as with so many knives 
the forest is cut up as a city

A Brumby tale

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Horses of the Australian High Country – near Corryong.
At the crack of thunder a handsome young colt took flight
down the alpine spine
he dashed and crashed through alpine scrub
until he had arrived
in the sheltered valley amongst his mob 
that gave him comfort and respite
from the raging storm that crowned the mountain
turning day into night

his tremor settled as he sidled up to his grazing mother 
the elder mare
she turned her head to see the sweat on his flanks
the rolling eyes of fear
she nuzzled licked and settled him 
with a maternal stare
curious young Brumbies wander alone all to often 
with reckless care

and all to often intelligently they navigate and interrogate 
the delicate high country
strong and predator free they browse moss fields and trees
leaving only debris
as well the large wild Brumby mobs roam freely about as if 
the place were theirs to own
they churn the creeks and chop the wafer thin soil
to its rocky bones

the wild horses of the Australian bush are part 
of history myth and legend
but their introduced arrival on colonial fleets
often goes unmentioned
noble creatures of the northern hemisphere they cast 
dark highborn shadows 
across native southern habitats their hard hooves and heavy weights 
disrupt natural indigenous flows

Today Dora asked we poets to write to a general prompt about horses. She included several remarkable sample poems you might like to read here https://dversepoets.com/2024/07/23/poetics-running-with-horses/ I chose to write about our local Australian wild horses, Brumbies. As an introduced species, Brumbies are controversial, both celebrated and appreciated. I hope to have developed the reasons why in my poem.

Wetlands

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Morang wetlands
Where the water is the sky
and sky blue is water too
I sit and with my eye
nature's perfection do I spy

Mist

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The silver mists of Golden Mountain
obscure the ranging view
but create a tableau different and good
of ghosts, and flitting wood nymphs too?

when wallabies thump their way through the wood
it sounds like tree fellers of the past
they appear in swirls of misty pearls 
then disappear just as fast

the deep forest loses depth
the towering forest loses height 
and still the height and depth of it
is perceived as majesty and might

spectre trees and bracken fern
emerge and fade as shades
the mid story of denser shrubs
thickens, then lightens as glades

above in the lofts of the tree tops
lost in a murky crown
the creak of Gang Gangs evokes a haunted house
as the mist keeps coming down

heavy with moisture grey as lead
the weight of water settles
it drips from every frond and leaf 
and jewels the risen nettles

muffled by its soft grey cloak
hushed by its thick grey mantle
awaiting the sun
is forest 
under fractal lintel 

the chill of it penetrates
every thermal hat, scarf and glove
the pleasure of it permeates
souls 
with the nature we love

here in the forest, the misty forest
be one lost and found
take the time to appreciate
the mystery of mistery found all around

Walking Dip Lane, Sheans Creek

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a chance for a walk, a chance for talk, best thing a walk and a talk

Mere

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This is the spot I like to sit
and watch the bees at work 
this mere is the spot I take my rest
reflect on the mysteries of life’s cirque
to see the flowers pollinated 
to see the caterpillar form and eat
to watch the chrysalis deliver
the pretty butterfly to floral seat
to watch the autumn turn green cloaking
to dusky yellow, reds and browns
before stripping bare and thus exposing 
woody boughs for next years round
and in spring I observe the flourishing
of vivid sprouts and blooms from sleep 
when they give energy nourishing
to new growth it fills me, replete
in knowing summer will again warm me
in this spot at nature's feet

Butterflies

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Egg, caterpillar, chrysalis and butterfly
a fascinating life cycle my oh my
then at the end away they fly
all love to watch them flying by

those butterflies, an erratic sight
one that engages non linear flight.
on colourful platform will alight,
when the season is just right

pollinating from flower to flower
ideally protected by leafy bower
delight to watch them hour on hour
on floral carpet or growing tower

five flaps per second, a butterfly flits
up then down in lifts and dips
with dramatic wings nature equips 
tasting food with feet, strange butterfly grips

each of four wings are made of scales
as bright and light as gossamer sails
ragged wings are when flight fails
end of days on hills and dales

oh how I love the butterflies
that brush the earth and fill the skies
becoming endangered, my heart cries
only stillness and emptiness when every butterfly dies

Predator

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This was my cat “Panther”. I had her from when I was 12 years old until she was 21 years old (and I 33). She used to walk down to the shops with me. She was a delightful domestic cat. However, after working in the bush I now see the terrible toll cats take on our native species. Domestic cats should never be allowed to leave a controlled and enclosed space to roam free.
Stealthy predator of malign intent
brought to a new country 
evil sent
with no defences natives fall
like dominoes before claw and paw

colonising new territory by the day
nothing effective stands in the way
a death count of billions by today
an introduced plague that makes death play
indigenous species fall by the way

to arrest this devastation we catch and kill
but the feline mind eludes us still
and hand on heart
heart on sleeve 
we witness endangerment extinction 
and grieve
As the first photo. indicates, I was a cat lover once. No longer. I chose “What Shall we do with the feathers?” by Lois Wain. I think the artist meant it to be a cute picture. The collars suggest domestic cats. They have just had a bit of fun together killing a bird despite the fact that they are fed daily by a human. However, to me it represents catastrophe because domestic cats and their feral offspring in Australia today are responsible for countless uncontrolled deaths. A plague of feral cats is decimating our native wildlife.

The dVerse prompt for we poets this week came from Melissa, to choose a Louis Wain artwork based on cats, and write a poem inspired by the artwork. One catch– we may not use the word cat. Other feline terminology is acceptable.

Alter

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Does it alter every morning when the light strikes the land
when sunlight ever bright or through grey skies hits the strand
do the shapes and forms move
under photon pressure waver
only photographer or artist heeds every little quaver
when dark crevices are lit 
by yellow shimmer or dull purple patches
when mountains high or plains below 
are patched with coloured swatches
when treed slopes or waving fields 
bask in brilliant splendour
it is time to remember nothing is static 
take time to appreciate and consider