Sleep baby sleep
my tears of joy come
watching over you I weep
my precious dependent one
and when you’re older
I will seek
to be your friend
when independence distances you
from the parent who will love you
til the end
sleep baby sleep
I know we will part
but this part of me
will always be
your piece of my heart
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
We are sitting in the basement
fifteen of us and a few cats and dogs
the battery powered light
flickering endlessly
giving this dark windowless
space an unsettling strobe
effect
we are powerless to
correct
anything
there’s constant noise down here
the wet wood in the furnace
gathered in life risking scrambled forays
sizzles spits and pops
like everything above ground
the thermal fan under it turns on
ever grinding stripped cogs
whir, grrr, whir, grrr
such a refuge
such refugees
the six month old baby grizzles
persistently as her mother rocks in place
mother elicits an endless suppressed
yet ever audible keening cry
over the child
eeee, oh, eeee, ooh, ooooh
our elderly neighbour in the corner
incessantly mutters unintelligibly and fossicks
in his rucksack for something
he never seems to find
rustle, bustle, rustle
the small boys of the street wrestle
spar for an activity to do until
someone inevitably gets hurt
accusations fly accompanied by
pleading cries and whimpers for concern
but there is little room for that
sook sook sook
oh the irony of such violence
here and now in play
and then the recriminations begin
all over again
or it's back to the board games
already fought over and
played dozens of times
or back to exhausted, restless sleep
the horror that has thrown us together
it has lasted five days now
with no end in sight
I mean how would we know
we have no radio
if there was
if there is
any end in sight?
add the horror of literally dashing
and splashing
to relieve yourself topside
before something or someone
gets you in one way or another
the horror of what you see while
you are out there
exposed and defenceless
amongst the snipers
the stray ordinance
the wreckage
the carnage, the bodies and body parts
the smoke and the smell
you can't get rid of any of it
the imagery burnt into your retinas
the stench of burnt everything
embedded in your nostrils
the burns on your skin
your very own smouldering soul
two young girls push toy cars and trucks
around the room
filling them with anything they can
that will support a story
of some sort to overcome their fear
you never know how it will manifest next as they
fret, fidget, fuss, fume or fuse
we all stare at the floor most of the time
except for the brief apprehensive looks
heavenward, to the ceiling
with every new global shudder of
our tiny enclosed world
we know where we are yet we are lost
we are buried
I wonder will we be buried here?
in our own reality show
live tombing
what will that be like?
CRUMP!
is it that noise that bothers most?
or is it the ripping and tearing of metal and wood
like live cardboard screaming
until it also is finally dead and still
all movement defeated
all creaks silenced
all purpose gone with the wind
the exploding windows
the thumps and whumps of trees and structures
unknown
falling to the earth
the wild crackling and detonation
arcing earthing power lines writhing
like electrocuted psychotic snakes
the searing howling jet stream that is
simply the roar of wind
generated by wildfire and wild fire
the small arms fire rippling
like saucepan popping corn
the convulsive impacts of
guided bombs
drones
missiles
random artillery
or
the moments of deathly silence when it all stops
when the next set of questions begin
do we venture out with hope?
or do we continue to wait
to still sit still in
this basement of dread
our will to endure fading
fading deeper into despair
our fading resilience
a fading of body and mind
we can see in our minds eye
the fading of our ink
from every record
of us there ever was
as we fade from presence
and the present and from
remaining data banks
we fade from existence
as surely as every other
ordinary person is knowingly
or carelessly erased by war
Despite the many brave
She was taken by the waves
To a watery grave
No one was saved
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
A pretty spot for a pretty shot
