Grudging – Word of the Day
A strange alarm clock. I think the parrots who came in late to roost held a grudge, I was getting a message! Camped in the Stirling Ranges, a couple of years back with Jon, and a tree full of parrots.
It happens that way,
that my words not so much tumble
plunging into your very being,
and so begins a pas de deux,
a dance of sharpness,
exchanging blow by resenting blow.
And finally, exhausted,
we clutch the lifebouy of forgiveness.
Redolent – Word of the Day
On the road to Jindalee, one of many places where a breakaway occurs creating sharp contrasts in colour and texture.
An Anamnesis Of Joy
To listen for the sound where there is none,
save for the elegance of birdsong,
nature’s grand opera.
Or a whistling breeze, when it can be bothered
to sigh along the gullies and through the trees.
The smell of eucalyptus, like laundry day,
nanna removing stains the old way.
Dust in my nostrils as my soles kiss the earth,
the crunch of grit,
and that dry feel of summer’s arrival.
The familiar buzz of flies,
a bead of sweat
released from winter’s cold cell.
And, overwhelmed by a sense of joy,
wanting to tell everyone,
I exclaim, again,
to no one in particular,
“I have no words!”
Just the silent liturgy of feeling,
An anamnesis of joy,
of a past now present once more.
Jos Monday Walk
The upper reaches of Margaret River where it crosses a road, this year a steady flow.
Blossom – Word of the Day
Another Wattle (Acacia) taken at Manea Reserve, the blossom is always so rich and golden, like miniature suns. Acacia carries a multitude of meanings, including; purity, fortitude, renewal, eternity and love.
After an aeternus
Helios landed with a thud
showering sparks across the land.
It must be so, because
the trees are ablaze,
golden with fire so bright
I averted my eyes, for
I could not hold your gaze.
You possessed me,
devoured my senses.
Harmony – Word of the Day
Photo: Dry creek bed – the Hull River, Northern Territory. This particular spot is also the site of Kulpi Tjuntinya also called Lasseter’s Cave. The river is mostly dry on the surface, and runs underground. There are many soaks along its route. When it does rain heavily the water can be one third up the height of those trees, which given the width, is a mighty volume of water.
The Australian bush, long before white settlers, was well protected with the harmony of traditional law or Tjukurpa – pronounced Chookapah (following the Central and Western Desert peoples view). The law is an oral tradition handed on generation to generation and memorised. One of its central principles is respect for all the elements of nature because everthing is in relationship and everything has an effect. While the words harmony or balance are not explicit, the principles are evident in the way Australian indigenous peoples treat the land and each other.
In the Balance
Where once where trees lie salted plains
and dusty cattle ruts.
Camels, mines and 4x4s,
billabong and creek consumed.
Settlers coveted and misunderstood,
but the Anangu have wise ways,
and through their ancient dreaming,
there came ways of loving nature whole.
Investigation – Word of the Day
Henbury Meteorite Conservation reserve, in the Northern Territory. One of twelve craters left by a meteorite 4,700 years ago. We found it a great place to explore. Scientists continue to investigate the particles and debris from the meteorite found here.
The silence is eerie,
only a sliver of light
as I carefully crack the door ajar.
No footmarks or fingerprints,
no signs of forced entry.
I open the door,
aha, just as I’d thought,
Someone’s abducted my custard tart.
Fragrant – Tuesday Photo Prompt
The gentle fragrance of the winter bloom of Acacia, lovely to see these Wattle trees signalling the coming end to winter and the arrival of the southern spring.
Rain moistened soil
wattle trees glorious
gestation of hope
Loath – Word of the Day
Rain on the Blackwood.
Just Five More Minutes
Rain spattering our roof,
as the torrent sluices
and further down the doona I snuggle.
The thunder of downpipes,
quiet slick on the glass,
the soft patter of drops on leaves,
such a beautiful sound.
an elbow finds my ribs.
But it’s warm in here.
To no avail,
as the reply comes,
it’s your turn.
An inward sigh,
I’m loath to breach the doona
and face the cold.
Just five more minutes …
Filed under life, nature, poetry
Awkward – Word of the Day
Now that’s definitely awkward! Augusta tour boat jetty, with the Blackwood River riding high after heavy winter rains.
The evening light is dim,
and the tide betwixt,
swash, swash, swash,
lapping the timber sides
in rhythmic beat.
There’s a sole light with courting moths,
and shadows are moving about.
It’s deeper further along,
and the pros are casting there.
We’re at the shallow end,
the beginners place.
I set my rod,
the rig is ready,
bait set and the line is cast.
Then in it comes,
an angler’s hazzard appears,
an inedible blowie.
Father demands a turn,
the rig is ready,
bait set and the line is cast,
and then it strains,
his excitement mounts.
He yells, “I’ve got one!”
The pros all turn,
“this must be good.”
But I cut the line,
his catch is inedible too,
a wooden bream.
“Dad, you’ve hooked the jetty.”
This poem is a true story, one of my childhood memories. Black Bream is species of fish found in the Swan river, it is said that they are cunning and wily and hard to catch.
Wanderlust – word of the Day
The creek running through Fred Jacoby Park, Mundaring.
Silver birds don’t always take me there.
Today I walked with friends,
majestic red gums, acacias abalze.
the musk of roos unseen,
wattle birds, honey eaters,
the morse-code of frogs.
The creek rushing with winter,
taking little green ships to foreign parts.
And my mind begins to wander creeks past,
memories like underlined sentences;
my fathers warm strong hand,
my lovers gentle hands clasped in joy,
smaller hands clasped in mud and giggles,
tadpoles in jars,
hands of dear journey friends,
a few who’ve journeyed into the west.
Living and cherished,
Today I walked with friends.
Silver birds don’t always take me there.