There is also a great walking path along Stoney Creek here. You can view the Victoria Walks’ walking map I have published here: https://walkingmaps.com.au/walk/5731
The Muttaburrasaurus at McNish
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Tag Archives: Photography
Unconvinced of spring
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.
River #03
Where the river meets the sea
I’ll wait patiently
until your ship comes in
carrying you to my smiles
we’ll walk the miles and miles
to a place to begin again
upriver to where small streams
become the water of river dreams
where meadows grow green under
skies of sun and thunder
there we’ll settle on high ground
ever fertile and sound
we’ll labour to work the earth
and give a family birth
a family that will grow
to work together and sow
under that mantle of blue and grey
after years and many a day
we will turn to each other and say
the life we chose has been a good one
as good as the river is long
to its banks we will continue to go
hand in hand
watching the river flow
Thoughts
Like paper to the wind
my thoughts I scatter here
unable to rescind
I let them travel where
I know not what they’ll achieve
succeed with or accomplish
I fear they’ll find readers
with care only to admonish
then there is the question
why bother anyway?
so many smarter and stupider minds
have so much more to say
and louder voices
because they so often agree
to speak their thoughts
only to celebrity
a different purpose is theirs
to be heard no matter what
without the necessity
of thinking intelligently
of sharing something
of value they have got
I speak simply
of observations
of thoughts I mull over
instead
I speak of imagery
of the wonders of earth
that crowd
inside my head
Fragile
Fragile like a bubble floating gentle on a breeze
uncertain airy eddies dropping it and raising it with ease
a dip toward a branch and a child waits for it to pop
breath held eyes wide standing still mid hop
then it spirals up just before the moment
a random push to nowhere special
rescued by chance
bound only by circumstance
the brittle coloured shiny shell wafer thin and precious
we await another chance buffeting the waiting is delicious
to influence things the child waves hands and blows with her small mouth
she hopes to help it survive the ground disaster beckons from the south
her little puffs send fragile bubble in unintended directions
she watches amazed the effect she has on the subject of her affection
her will her thought her decision to act on the outcome she desires
embolden her to further acts beyond bubbles she aspires
eventually the bubble pops its streaky rainbow skin
we both sigh in satisfaction at its inevitable oily end
as it bursts in prism lit spray asunder
the fragile bubble also releases wonder
the child and I are compelled to create more of these globular gems
to see what control we can exercise what we can contrive with them
such is human life
Banksia
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
Lovers
lovers
a contradiction
the joyful anticipation of time spent together is heightened by the inevitability of separation
whether one waits for the other to arrive or the timing is perfect
buoyant hearts rush to the coming
the anticipation of separation casts a shadow over time spent together
time to dread and then watch the leaving
heavy hearts drag at the going
both will love and hate the preoccupying delirium of the in between
lovers
linger and pine long
Sun
The sun is a furnace around which we orbit. It sits in space 152 million kilometres away, providing just enough heat to keep our planet and its inhabitants alive. Every time I recognise this fact I have the same response – what are the chances? WOW!
Timbertop Saddle – Mt Timbertop summit walk (return)
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
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
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
Sydney classics
Sydney Harbour is a beautiful place
The water, the bridge, the ferries, the space
To love Sydney and Melbourne is no disgrace
Both cities are really to everyone's taste
Air Show #01
Flights of fantasy
flights for death
flights for transport
take away your breath
A Brumby tale
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.
After the fires
During the fires even the soil burnt hot
Many places recover some do not
New forests grow green under dead wood thick
Skeleton forests are bone white and ground is black
Buildings of Melbourne #02
Melbourne has a rich architectural heritage. Sadly, much was lost to development in the 1970s. However, an innovative present is some consolation. I love to walk around the city taking photographs of the preserved buildings/facades of yesterday and the creative designs of today. I hope you, my reader, enjoy the view too.
Shoes
These black shoes made prominent display
in their window on a cold, wet day
the sole remainders of a winter sale
thrust forward beyond blue veil
walk in my shoes for the rest of the tale
Colour frosted
Clusters of pink
bundles of green
frosty treat
winter morning
Melbourne Buildings Gallery No. 1
Sleep
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
Mist
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
War
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
Water
I searched for the river to slake desperate thirst I thought it was somewhere around here I thought I smelled water but I remained cursed every turn brought simply more tears I toiled through the scrub on my knees as a first I soon began to smell fear the dry of my throat and my eyes were the worst but I still felt there was water around here my effort was flagging my heart fit to burst lost I scrambled and crawled for life dear then I heard a tinkle with cracked lips pursed I stopped to listen and peer was I tricked, in illusion immersed? no, there a gleam through the woods did appear and I rose and I ran and the wild things dispersed as I charged and leapt logs like a deer all the pain and the doubt that I had nursed vanished like fog from a weir disappeared in that moment I felt myself blessed I found water deep, cool and clear and I dived right in, water up to my chin I drank and rejoiced in the swim and I swore in that water that life giving elixir no wrong would I e’er do again
Walking Dip Lane, Sheans Creek
Shipwreck
Despite the many brave
She was taken by the waves
To a watery grave
No one was saved
poetography.ink 