Reblogged from Strathbogie Ranges Nature View, another walk worth a look..
Another glorious Victorian walk.
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Tag Archives: fotografia
Strathbogie Ranges Nature View (SRNV)
SRNV is a nature blog I have neglected my co-authorship of in recent years. This has been due to work and family commitments taking me to other parts of this wonderful state of Victoria. In the meantime, Bert has continued his informative presentation and celebration of our region. Now I am spending more time back in Central and North East Victoria I am well and truly ready to join him again. I will reblog here to poetography.ink for my occasional reader’s interest.
The last dune
These dunes go on forever and never in my life have I felt so tired
the marching crests go on and on toward the same relentless sun I once admired
every step is weighted by troughs of sand negating the energy left to put one foot ahead of the other
but as I stagger wearily the last dune appears blearily after which I begin to think of rest and cover
I crawl the final distance against flowing sand resistance until over the last rise I will at last be
where my resolve finally breaks when viewing from the last dune I see queueing only more dunes
before a desolate beach and an endless sea
choose your own future
It is with regret that I realise my prophecy will not be believed
it is with sadness that I see a world of unwanted hurt cannot be relieved
into the apocalypse will fall one and all for want of not heeding my call
it is not for a lack of frequency that my message remains unreceived
it is not for a deficit of clarity my warning languishes ill perceived
for none can learn from the evidence when there are none who wish to hear
who from convenient comfort will attend to tales of turbulent doom as it draws near?
who has the power to break the apathy of masses when the masses will not act on their fear?
and who will take the time to reflect after the dismal impact, who will shed a tear?
upside city view
As I travel around the city
I contemplate something true
people are all doing something
seeing myriad projects through
every choice they make a decision
to copy or find something new
in working separately or together
they are constantly stirring
the city’s creative brew
Landscapes
It is the rugged mountain landscape that reflects my heart
from great heights I watch over every part
the pinnacles are the summit of my aspiration
valleys are where I pause for consideration and revelation
water scoured gullies have carved their scars onto my soul
but the long deep range sustains and heals my whole
open rolling plains broad flat and wide
are where the scope of my vision emerges from inside
where I can see from horizon to horizon
nothing impedes my hopes here my future can be spun
I absorb the beauty of each day each morning and evening sun
from each creature or blade each single tree or forest
watching and observing for new opportunities to enlist
along waterways I explore the wilder places I adore
where raging tempest or placid calm invoke irrepressible desires for more
like the fluid medium within me water of my life
clean water fills all empty spaces with relief
and ocean depths teem with the origins of my genes
where all futures were created as a multiverse of dreams
This week the dVerse poetics prompt from Dora was to incorporate a landscape or cityscape into your poetry that either mirrors or amplifies your interior landscape (or lack thereof).
The New Summer
We recently had to evacuate three generations of our family from three households across northern and central Victoria. Due to multiple and extensive bushfires, we watched with anxiety as they flared and ebbed and flared again towards our various homes. Fortunately, we all returned to intact houses. Many were not so lucky.
As the climate situation gets worse, with every New Summer we feel the new fear rise again.
All work is my own and you can share it as much as you like.
the last kiss
The last time I saw my mother she sent me a kiss across the void. Two fingers touched her puckered lips, then cast into the air was a kiss at the mercy of the stiff breeze blowing everyone’s hats away. Was I meant to catch it? I have never really been sure. One reason was it appeared to be barely cast in my direction, the other was that she was in fact looking at her new husband as her hand regally flicked yet another token on another impossible journey of placation. She, number three plus stupid yappy little dog were on a boat to somewhere. Ten year old me? I was left standing on the dock unaware somewhere meant this was our last almost acknowledgement of each other. One thing I learnt that day to believe forever is lips forget what they have kissed.
For today’s dVerse 144 word prosery challenge, Mish chose the following line from Toni Morrison’s evocative poem, “Eve Remembering”. “Lips forget what they have kissed.” Besides writing eleven novels, five children’s books, two plays and an opera, Toni was the author of “Five Poems“, first published in 2002. You can read them here (well worth a read). I chose to respond to the challenge with a work of flash fiction that hits the 144 word sweet spot precisely.
All work is my own. I do not use AI.
Echidna
I met a hungry echidna
with spiky spines all over I’m not kiddin’ ya
it flicked its tongue from its beak
for the ants it did seek
you thought I was kiddin ya, didn’t ya?
Top of Swanston
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Logged in
There is a cut elm log
in the shade of a large ash tree
on which I like to sit out of the sun
from which I like to look out
or in at me
who am l? I ask
most reverently
then discussion ensues
determinedly
I pause to think
on the answers I hear
I pause and reflect
on what comes to bear
with my elbows placed
gently
upon my knees
I balance my chin
while I shoot the breeze
in memory I keep
a record of my thoughts
from under the tree
where ideas are caught
my log from a log
stores in signs and degrees
while I sit in the shade
shooting the breeze
The Risk
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In Forests #02
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The Trees
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Springtime in Melbourne – new growth
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Trainspotting
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The sea, the sea
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Sun
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Digital Parking Meters
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The Australian Darter
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Tricks
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The Violent sky
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My poetry
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Half an hour
Half an hour
one forty eighth of each day
should be consistently allocated to the following practice
should be consistently adhered to at the expense of all other things
the undertaking of regular exercise
no matter what your age
this is a good use of your time
such that the time that is left to you
may well be longer
Secret
Can you keep a secret?
I wonder if you can?
You mustn't laugh!
You mustn't cry,
but do the best you can!
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