We recently had to evacuate three generations of our family from three households across northern and central Victoria. Due to multiple and extensive bushfires, we watched with anxiety as they flared and ebbed and flared again towards our various homes. Fortunately, we all returned to intact houses. Many were not so lucky.
As the climate situation gets worse, with every New Summer we feel the new fear rise again.
All work is my own and you can share it as much as you like.
I meet her every Sunday morning
we have two cups of tea
I haven’t been sure why I go
but she seems to like to see me
I guess it’s because she’s lonely
and I’m the only one left around
with any sort of connection to her
for her it’s a pretty empty town
she always puts a face on
and she has two types of tea
would I prefer black or green?
a nice gesture
but it’s all the same to me
maybe a couple of biscuits?
shortbreads or Chocolate Royals
artfully presented on a floral plate
immediately after the kettle has boiled
we start with a chat about the weather
during the previous week
we could talk about it forever
but actually that’s not why we meet
she was ninety last December
you wouldn’t know it though
all her friends and rellies dead and gone
I guess that makes my visits a special sort of show
me, her brother’s son’s son
I didn’t even know we were related
until she called me on the phone
she said she had something to give me
since her nephew was now also gone
I was hesitant, but I went around
choosing right from wrong
and we seemed to settle into a pattern
after great great grandad’s medals she passed on
it’s interesting I guess hearing about her life
and she asks about mine too
I think she wants to check I’m not in any strife
she was in a war too you know
New Guinea at the bottom of the Kokoda Trail
a young nurse waiting for injured soldiers
she has many stories that make me smile
..... and she has lots of horror stories too
one day she let on one of those soldiers was her dear oldest brother
he didn’t make it to the hospital tent
she told me he was dead by the time they got him down
she says the world lost a rascal and a gent
he’d been stabbed in the stomach and hit by a round
they gave her a morning off to grieve and to see his body sent
in the tropical heat the Japanese bayonet wound had gone septic
she became a union activist after the war was over
the women had been doing the “men’s” work
but when the men returned working women were just seen as a bother
she saw her job as helping women stand up for what was right
she was then regarded largely as a teacup without a storm
but she was really a true pioneer, one with great foresight
because even though inequality for women again became the norm
still she stood up spoke out and fronted for the fight
she says the women had proved their worth
nonetheless she says she has never been bitter
even if society again reverted to the patriarchal curse
it just encouraged to try harder for more jobs and equal pay
sad she says though
that equal pay for women is still not a reality today
she has outlived her husband and three children now
sometimes she talks about them sadly
then she always perks up when she says how
she can still recount their quirks and talents
I learn ever more about them quite gladly
my parents are divorced and always hostile and angry
consequently I don’t want to see them much
however I do sometimes wonder if they ever talk about me
with such a loving parental touch?
I tell her about my partner and my favourite things in life
she listens intently to my prattling and often offers up good advice
come to think of it I kind of like it
this tea for two with my great aunt
in fact I can’t think of a better way to spend a Sunday morning
if I’m honest I really can’t.
All work is my own unless otherwise stated. I do not use AI.
dancing in the living room
to The Beatles Twist and Shout
shaking off all the gloom
working it all out
will I dance tomorrow?
you better believe it mate
because there’s always something to look forward to tomorrow
and free dancing feels great
I do a little bit of a twist
a bit of rock around the clock
I like to give it my best
a bit of pop and lock
if anyone wants to join me
rock, techno, blues or pop
there's no aggro or shaming
just celebrating music until you drop
I wake at 4 in the morning
in the small hours
when small things matter
and ideas can repeat in your brain
taking on more significance than they deserve
eroding your ability to unwind
like a tap dripping in the next room
but not this morning
this morning it is soft rain I hear
gently tinkling on the metal
of the carport roof outside
it is warm under the covers
I feel secure
as your soft regular breathing resumes
after you roll onto your side next to me
was it an interrupted dream?
I like not knowing everything that goes on in your head
after all these years you can still surprise me
I snuggle up to your back
and rest my forehead between your shoulder blades
as I contemplate what it is to be us
your heels settle into the angle of my ankles
your calves align with my shins
your thighs mold to mine
and your backside schmoozes deliciously into my groin
I raise my head to create more space
so I can wrap my arms around you
pulling your upper body into mine
as my arms embrace your warmth
I soak up your textures
I draw in your smell
with my eyes closed
I sense every point at which we touch
I feel our body rhythms synchronise
as my muscles relax
and my mind smiles
with the intimate pleasure
of as much body contact as we can muster
I savour the moment
as peaceful sleep reclaims me
For today’s dVerse Poetics, Sanaa asked we poets to write a poem about love as something quietly sacred — not just roses and hearts, but the small, unseen ways. A confession upfront, I wrote this poem for my wife years ago. It remains one of my favourites and I thought it fitted the prompt so well I just had to repost it. FYI, this poem still speaks the truth. My darling, I love you.
The last time I saw my mother she sent me a kiss across the void. Two fingers touched her puckered lips, then cast into the air was a kiss at the mercy of the stiff breeze blowing everyone’s hats away. Was I meant to catch it? I have never really been sure. One reason was it appeared to be barely cast in my direction, the other was that she was in fact looking at her new husband as her hand regally flicked yet another token on another impossible journey of placation. She, number three plus stupid yappy little dog were on a boat to somewhere. Ten year old me? I was left standing on the dock unaware somewhere meant this was our last almost acknowledgement of each other. One thing I learnt that day to believe forever is lips forget what they have kissed.
For today’s dVerse 144 word prosery challenge, Mish chose the following line from Toni Morrison’s evocative poem, “Eve Remembering”. “Lips forget what they have kissed.” Besides writing eleven novels, five children’s books, two plays and an opera, Toni was the author of “Five Poems“, first published in 2002. You can read them here (well worth a read). I chose to respond to the challenge with a work of flash fiction that hits the 144 word sweet spot precisely.
All work is my own. I do not use AI.
The morning was full of parrots
They clambered over chairs
many perched amongst the maples
and through the windows they did stare
their incessant voices calling
their colours deep and and bright
I wondered how long they had been there?
had they been out there all night?
it was bedlam on the verandah
it was getting messy on the deck
all so they could have a gander
the new occupants they came to check
would we feed them like they were used to?
or leave them to their own means?
were they welcome to visit regularly?
or was that just a parrot dream?
I met a hungry echidna
with spiky spines all over I’m not kiddin’ ya
it flicked its tongue from its beak
for the ants it did seek
you thought I was kiddin ya, didn’t ya?
There is a cut elm log
in the shade of a large ash tree
on which I like to sit out of the sun
from which I like to look out
or in at me
who am l? I ask
most reverently
then discussion ensues
determinedly
I pause to think
on the answers I hear
I pause and reflect
on what comes to bear
with my elbows placed
gently
upon my knees
I balance my chin
while I shoot the breeze
in memory I keep
a record of my thoughts
from under the tree
where ideas are caught
my log from a log
stores in signs and degrees
while I sit in the shade
shooting the breeze
Half an hour
one forty eighth of each day
should be consistently allocated to the following practice
should be consistently adhered to at the expense of all other things
the undertaking of regular exercise
no matter what your age
this is a good use of your time
such that the time that is left to you
may well be longer
poetography.ink 