Tag Archives: Poem

Truth and beauty

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A sign, Talllangatta.
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

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Strathbogie sunrise
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

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Wombolano walking track
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

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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.

Entitlement

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Captured by ideas that stick 
neither ethical or vindicated
like viruses infecting common sense 
thinking cell irrationality is replicated

the brain within its box
looks normal the body functions well
but the expression of what is right
is a sign of a parasite from hell

a social disease spreads rampantly 
there is low resistance in the body politic 
the social contract also
breaks down weak and apathetic

sovereign individuals like zombies
run on a contagion spree
clogging the arteries of justice 
demanding parking fines for free

not subject to common law
they insist on being allowed to dump
their obligations and responsibilities
in the first available sump

the red flags are a waving
the warning lights are on the wall
of democracy is the engraving 
once lost it will always be gone

I look at the sovereign citizens and wonder
where they come from
their sense of self righteousness and injustice
must be an infection gone wrong

just like a raging microorganism
they inflame and wear and tear
in delirium 
the very system that supports them 
without hesitation, clear thought or care

Poetry 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.

Mausoleum

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Untouched by day by moon unlit
cold resting place for those deemed fit
high rank and majesty interned in stone
where we wander wondering how alone
these lives and deaths were really spent 
kings and queens of this cold tent
dust to dust settles in this lifeless place
humanity lost from each rigid face
symbols of life symbols of death
no spark of life each lonely wraith
just like others humble, pauper or brave
their lives came to nought but another grave

Poetry 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.

Snowline

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Above the snowlike looking toward the Paps, Timbertop, Victoria.
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.

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.

Green shed Wood shed

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The green shed / wood shed
evening light
green shed machine shed
for grass and pruning nicely cropped
wood shed drying shed
wood split and chopped

Photography 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.

Time

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Boroondara General Cemetery clock tower
Time forgive me
I have not used you well
I lived without a thought
given to your passing 
your never ending
support of which I ought
have appreciated 
gratefully respected
sincerely thanked upon my soul
because now I know 
you will let me go
you are not mine to control
infinite time
you will pay me no mind
and at your pleasure 
you will swallow me whole

Poetry days #08.

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.

Apartment

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I walked into the apartment
on a turbulent afternoon
in my tiny slice of sky
ominous clouds did loom
the titans were massing
for a deadly contest
but through my small window
I could see no conquest

Poetry days #06.

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

Mr Unknowable Self

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Finding your unknowable self, Lysterfield Lake walk
What is that thing you have concealed at the back of the darkest shelf
Mr Unknowable Self
what is it you have hidden away
is it for a rainy day
is it for a special time or special friend to reveal
is it honestly come by or is it something you steal

who are you Mr Unknowable Self
and the secretive part of you
neither pauper nor with wealth
covert and invisible to all including yourself
fearful of understanding 
a past that might never heal 
committed to hiding away the things not to be revealed

so how are you Mr Unknowable Self
are you content with never knowing
never believing in yourself
will you practice deceit all your life to avoid one likely fact
if you explored the things you don’t want to know 
you with yourself
might that make a peaceful pact

so take down that thing from the darkest shelf
open it to the light
make sure it is dealt
with to relieve you of your plight

Poetry days #05. For the online Lysterfield Lake walking map and description I have published on the Victoria Walks web site click: Lysterfield Lake circuit walk

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.

A nice thing

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Cerebral Palsy walk, Mt Kosciusko 
You gave my day a lift 
with the words you gave me as a gift
and the things you did
I don’t know if you knew
but especially coming from you
I took them straight to heart
and I’m grateful for your part 
in making my day special
right from the very start
that was a nice thing that you said
and nice things that you did

Poetry days #01. Find the path here: https://www.nationalparks.nsw.gov.au/things-to-do/walking-tracks/mount-kosciuszko-summit-walk

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

Dad jokes

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Dad laughs at his own jokes
children cringe and feign embarrassment
dad adds tickles and finger pokes
children claim harassment

and everyone shares miles of smiles
at table, play or from the floor
as dad persists all the while
cracking jokes more and more

"Don't encourage him!" everyone says
as dad scores another score
laughter turns into donkey brays
as belly laughs stretch the jaw

the fun settles slowly and aching cheeks
from grins as big as the moon
will be remembered for weeks and weeks
secretly,
we wish to hear more dad jokes soon

For this week’s dVerse poetics prompt Mish gave we poets licence to consider any aspect of laughter we choose. Believe it or not, sometimes I can set the house on fire with the quality and machine gun delivery of my Dad jokes. I just can’t understand why everyone present groans so much and pleads with me to stop!

Belief

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She doesn’t have faith like Jesus
But she does believe in love
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she does celebrate life
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she always tries to be kind
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she leads a generous life
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she worships nature and its gifts
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she volunteers and gives a bit
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she does believe in peace
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she can turn the other cheek
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she believes in equality for humankind
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but believes in freedom of speech and mind
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but believes in growing knowledge and skills 
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but believes people should not kill
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but believes in doing good and always will
she doesn’t have faith like Jesus
but she should be honoured  still

Written for the dVerse challenge from Andrew. When we take up poetic arms in any cause, we are trusting that “the pen is mightier than the sword!”

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.

River #03

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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

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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