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.
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.
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.
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
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
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
This was my cat “Panther”. I had her from when I was 12 years old until she was 21 years old (and I 33). She used to walk down to the shops with me. She was a delightful domestic cat. However, after working in the bush I now see the terrible toll cats take on our native species. Domestic cats should never be allowed to leave a controlled and enclosed space to roam free.
Stealthy predator of malign intent brought to a new country evil sent with no defences natives fall like dominoes before claw and paw
colonising new territory by the day nothing effective stands in the way a death count of billions by today an introduced plague that makes death play indigenous species fall by the way
to arrest this devastation we catch and kill but the feline mind eludes us still and hand on heart heart on sleeve we witness endangerment extinction and grieve
As the first photo. indicates, I was a cat lover once. No longer. I chose “What Shall we do with the feathers?” by Lois Wain. I think the artist meant it to be a cute picture. The collars suggest domestic cats. They have just had a bit of fun together killing a bird despite the fact that they are fed daily by a human. However, to me it represents catastrophe because domestic cats and their feral offspring in Australia today are responsible for countless uncontrolled deaths. A plague of feral cats is decimating our native wildlife.
The dVerse prompt for we poets this week came from Melissa, to choose a Louis Wain artwork based on cats, and write a poem inspired by the artwork. One catch– we may not use the word cat. Other feline terminology is acceptable.
Does it alter every morning when the light strikes the land when sunlight ever bright or through grey skies hits the strand do the shapes and forms move under photon pressure waver only photographer or artist heeds every little quaver when dark crevices are lit by yellow shimmer or dull purple patches when mountains high or plains below are patched with coloured swatches when treed slopes or waving fields bask in brilliant splendour it is time to remember nothing is static take time to appreciate and consider
Beauty is in the moment Sitting by a window Sun streaming in From directly across the way Low in the pale blue winter sky But strong enough to warm the room Through tall floor to ceiling glass Strong black lines The shadows of the woodwork Stretch long, deep and straight Across shiny slate Framing the scene Defining the space Giving shape to enveloping comfort Warming the calm Enclosing peacefulness As I now heavy lidded Look out on gold rimmed trees Vivid green grass Foraging birds And hear the cascading water of the creek Beauty is in this moment
Watkins walk is a Strathbogie Tableland roadside walk through grazing farmland and native forest. One of its other attractive features is the high conservation value roadside vegetation including various towering species of eucalypt.
Such roadsides are critical local biolinks for flora and fauna. There is plenty to see and wildlife sightings are common.
This is a little trafficked smooth gravel road and Strathbogie Tableland is quiet. You can hear cars approaching from some way off. It is pretty safe walking. However, it still makes sense to stick to the right of the road so you are facing any oncoming vehicles that do appear.
