Untold Day
...Memories stitched with ragged seams.
Masks
lily pads
double by day
the pond
is half covered
the day before it suffocates
patterns
on the internet
the news pressed
into our layered dreams
until we have forgotten what they mean
my neighbour
denying science
is provoked
by women with covered faces
and my blue peonies
on a languid
locked-down afternoon
Bob Dylan
says truth comes
from behind a mask
a flotilla
of fabric boats on my desk
soft enough
to be flattened, strong enough
to weather the coming storm
Billabong
The kite sky anchored to the lake
by the lone ghost gum on the shore
A heron dives into the moon
and the silvered fish fly before
Bumble Bee
When I think of improbable things
There’s the virus
Space
The bumble bee
And you
Excerpt from "Bumble Bee" poem
Honey Bee and African Daisies - Shakespeare Regional Park, New Zealand
Dawn Cat vs
The Dream Weaver
Stealthy feline dawn comes pawing
Round the curtains, stalking night
Dark retreats, defeated, slinking
Sinking Westwards out of sight.
Round the world the night goes prowling
Different minds, indifferent dreams
Tugging mismatched threads of conscious
Memories stitched with ragged seams.
Warp and weft, forgotten tendrils
Weaving fabrics of the mind
Silent fades the nightly weaver
Leaving wisps for dawn to find.
First Day
of Spring
The dog bounds ahead leaving dark hollows
in the silvered grass
Our footsteps fall together
with the soft crunch of breaking ice.
​
My hand, still numb from the recent frost,
snakes into your pocket,
Your fingers curl round mine
enveloping me in silent warmth.
A wattle catches the first rays
as the morning star fades
Diamonds drip from softening buds
we call the dog and turn our feet to home
Winter Solstice
The comedy and tragedy of earth
That love must be the midwife at our birth
All that’s broken, all that is attained
Love is by a greater love contained
The echo heard in every song I sing
There’s darkness at the heart of everything
The pieces, incomplete can’t be returned
And peace is the belief that it is earned
A trail of broken glass on paths of sin
Each fragment holds a rainbow shard within
Each birth is heralded with newborn cries
The earth exerts its claims on all that dies
The solstice lends the strength to lighter skies
And lengthening of days which hold goodbyes
We build the places where all our lives belong
And leave the space for breath within the song
​
The Settlement
​
Everything still seems newly made,
we explore the boundaries
round the harbour shore
feel soft edges give way, reform
each wave a broken imitation
of the ones before.
I kneel before a kookaburra, canned
inside a rusted shell of art.
The sculpture speaks of past, we listen
as the long-dead bird laughs on.
​
My hand holds atoms of a quill, every word
already spoken, every song already sung
You are bright with the knowledge
Held by elders and the stars.
The debt must be repaid
We advance, retreat,
advance.
Our path is newly made.
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