Walking Boundary Hill Road in dappled sun
from the Mannas and Blue Gums lining the run
the trees are magnificent and so is the landscape
when you are walking here the feeling is great
Photography days #30.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
this shedding Blue-tongued lizard
discards its skin
to reveal anew
the true colours within
Photography days #29.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Fallen maple leaf
Colour faded to dull brown
Winter is coming
Fallen maple leaf
Together we fall to ground
Winter is coming
Poetry days #33.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
We witness their leaving like smoke in the wind
the wildlife departure impossible to rescind
following First Nations people out of the bush
into memory alone at an increasing rush
when we came here there were many koalas just 16 years ago
now their sighting is uncommon as they falter and go
and the freshwater crays I haven’t seen for five years
the metal blue of their backs absent - extinction fears
there once was a blackfish but it also is gone
from the spring creek below us it once called home
and the robins are fewer where they once dominated
the platypus just hanging on from being eradicated
I’m sure the list is much longer but what more can one do
than try to protect what is left sheltered in a zoo
more people and cars, disease, cats, foxes, more stock
more land cleared, less native food, climate change, ticking clock
we should know better but our efforts are weak
we talk local but the world must now deliver what we seek
Poetry days #30.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
chirping for attention
mouths always open
feeding is a frenzy
chicks ever hoping
Photography days #24.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
The star that fell as a bright flaring slash across the sky was really a meteor
the dull star that brightens then fades over weeks in the night above is really a comet
the star that arcs in a consistent orbit lit in the heavens is really an artificial satellite
if ever a star was to really fall toward earth the solar system would simply ignite
There is no Father Christmas
Poetry days #26
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
The one on the left said, "What will we do?
I think share all our seed, what about you two?"
The one on the right said, "I've earned more than you."
"I'll be taking full earnings, as is my due!"
The one in the middle said, "Be reasonable." On cue.
"There's no need to bicker, dissent or argue.
Let's eat what we need and let some accrue."
The way forward was set by this Yellow-tailed black guru.
Poetry days #22.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Bucolic scenes
the stuff of dreams
where farmland meets
bushland seats
Photography days #21.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
The bird that spoke that first perfect note
was a revelation to its kin
because she could sing so beautifully
the other birds decided to join in
some of the birds variations heard
they felt they could do better
so they sang with melodies that made
the landscape ring
and to each note
gave a letter
a chorus formed of singing birds
who organised their songs
into works of art
many species took part
and for the choir
others came along
a feud broke out all about
which birds sang best of the rest
unresolved each species kept
their songs close to their chest
and so today when you hear each
sing their special tweet
be mindful that this is why
only one song can each species
ever repeat
Poetry days #16.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
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.
As a volunteer Editor I prepare, publish and write for this publication. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to any content.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The most recent instalment of the very local Newsletter I edit for our community.
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
Clusters of pink
bundles of green
frosty treat
winter morning
Ah, the light of the golden hour
the yellow wash of dawn’s breaking sun
such pleasure in the early morn
omen for a another day of wonder
beautifully begun
This month’s edition of the small local newsletter I edit.
The luxury of poetry
the images created there
the pleasantries of high art
the challenges laid bare
the thoughts on truth and beauty
the ugly brutal truth
the clearly written words
the affected words forsooth
the scibblings of a madman
the writing of a scribe
the wounds of the wounded
the dying and dead imbibed
the love of many lovers
the truth and pain of love
the anxiety of living
the wonder of it hereof
the unitary or divisive delivery
of hell or heaven above
Ah, this last of exquisite autumn days
the slant of light of breaking rays
through fractured clouds to which some might say
how disappointing this grey sky day
but the rays of light delighted me
the yellow bands proportionately
dominate the view, you can’t but see
the illumination of everything touched by these
and in that light the detail found
from sun's surface waves inbound
everything on earth reflects colour and pleasure
if you look hard enough for work or leisure
an architect's masterpiece of blossoming features
or a beautiful flower of imperfect creases
see the light touch your skin
examine the surface you find yourself in
think of yourself as embodied light
the light within grants power of sight
and if you think deeper you just might
fully appreciate autumn's dying light
poetography.ink 