The Place of Repose

The feathered bird flips lightly on the low bough and peers

Suspiciously at fronds of smoke waving past his ears

Roundly Red and pale Peach bellies, proudly hide and seek

Circling hoard of humans who visit once a week

Curiously they walk below, felling trunks, digging peat

Bouncing round the fire waving sticks with things to eat

Harmlessly they shape our wood into a tiny home

A private nest, motionless, watching while Red roams.

Words of Wonder

Wonder why

These words of time

Enfolded, embossed in memory cite

Are staved in silence – what else can we say?

New ways to sing no words replace

Hold strong to the ledge

Solid timbre

Huon pine engraved with scars of age

Lashings of yard lines measured secure

To the shore

Though storms berate

Seasons rust and fade

How long? Till the lines fray.

Before bushfire devours what is ours

Let us launch and collect the tattered sails

Set free on open seas

Where words are swept away on wind ‘n tide has final say

Until the moon is no more

We will float above the whitewash

And long for safe harbour no more.

To wonder where?

Grow Big

Lying motionless for weeks

Eyes tracing fleur de lis

The peeling paper of grief

Lit by dappled window

 

We hauled ourselves o’er river

Up valley, down street

A fortress of relief

Where the sun streams in

 

Letterbox dropped all over

Exhaustive help depletes

Children playing down the creek

Treated from top to feet

 

The wardrobe grew expansive

The widening face to greet

In the mirror of my memory

My morning stranger meet

 

A thickening of walls and doors

A latch that won’t fool many

The welcome mat rolled up and out

For neighbours warm and friendly

 

The distance and the silence grew

A universe between them

Majestic prose still flows in space

Though gracious few receive it

 

The stranger in the mirror

Grows accustomed to the stare

Our eyes meet and smile

A sweet surrendered air

 

Hiding in plain sight

My former figure forgets

Politely nod and carry along

The new friend in our midst

 

New and aged silver and brave

Though some might say contrary

The glimmer in her eye reveals

The joy in giving Glory


Featured Image: Photo by Hello I’m Nik on Unsplash

Giving Plea

We may lay and rise to meet

Expel desire to compete

Friends and strangers’ hearth for feet

Tread the path discreet

 

Fruit borne plentiful and sweet

Eyes of silence wide asleep

Pierce the mocking vine deceit

Thistle blister seat

 

Longing not for pride or place

Passion forbade saving face

Hope in holy open space

Gentle saving grace

 

hobart ruins

 

Poem and Featured Image of Ellendale, Tasmania by Lisa J. Haynes (C) 2018

Image of ruins near Ross, Tasmania – Mercury Newspaper.

Proclaim Freedom

Fear of what might happen if you leave

Is no good reason to remain

Brokenhearted,

May you have the freedom to proclaim

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me because the LORD has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners,

to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favour and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion

— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.

They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendour. – Isaiah 61:1-3