Category Archives: Identity

Beauty in remaking

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Fine lines and filagree tracing
Fingers follow edges 
Soft downy folds 
Velvety lacing

Artful designer raises
Takes down asunder
Plundering wealth
Riches beyond dreams
Earth Woman wonder

Just as in a day
Can take a breath
Enslave it
By evening freed
In listless sigh
Of resignation
And sleep
Don't dream it, be it
Is nature's cry
As several evolutions
Of matter 
Land on my thigh
Her eyes trace the outlines
Mating decorations
Imagining them away
To nothing
Come undone
Completely
For several hundred and one
Days spent between extremes
Fighting, crying, sight
Laughing, smiling, delight
No greater affirmation
More than three letters
Yes, or I do
In the still dark silence
There is none other
But you
Artists of Tasmania ~ Lucienne Rickard. Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery.

Steer ashore

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Fear grips tightly
At the helm
Taking over orders
Pulling us in

Over our heads
Waves crashing
Broached to
Shoal approaching

No lives lost
Crew is down
Handing over
Dogs to morning

Rolling like a lullaby
Reassuring
Raised a lighthouse
First sighting

Pinnacle gives way
To coast
Welcome faces
Twirling smoke

Casting lines
Shorebound stagger
Every sight new
Intricate beauty

Island delights
Happen upon flower
Resiliently tender
Heart own power

Fear of the storm
All but gone
Only shaking hands
Wide eyed one

Never leaving
Smiles receding
As night creeps in
Farewell again

Handing over everything 
Knowing no direction
Trusting wholly
In you

It’s a sign

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How did she fly in
Through my window
To land on my thigh
Barely noticed

Seems strange when
Smallest sight
Feels like a sign
Unseen eye

Telling me what's ahead?
Pay attention 
Obey all warmings
Flash flooding 

Inevitable river edge
Fear of falling 
Highly possible 
On precipice

Open out your covering
Protecting you
Unfurl invisible wings
To fly

Catch my drift?
To the untrained eye
Life is random chance
Though happy coincidence
You and I

Evensong

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From where 
Does that voice
Of home, of love
Emanate from
For you?

Mine in the silence
Stillness of morning
Liminal spaces
In between times

Waking and falling
Daily repeat
Comfort only
Listening sweet

As waves in chorus
Between the staves
Low vocal tones
Violincello

Hum of engine
Breeze on wing
Chatter of trees
Sky ocean mirroring

I have seen some
Listening for love
From afar, voices echo
From ruins and scars

But mine here and now
Alive and loud
Any less and how
Could I stand so proud?

So I sing evensong
Night and day
Short and long
To remind me and all

To listen to the voice
That proclaims you worthy
That the life you dream 
To live is real

If only
Within you
Artists of Tasmania ~ Lucienne Rickard, loss of wildlife on Lord Howe Isl. Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery.

Hidden theatre

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Behind closed doors
Concertos applaud
Vacant space
Unadorned
With gazing eyes
Wondrous smiles
Shoulder shrug
Of thrilling chills
Why keep such love
Of life's liszt
Behind closed doors
When all ears could feel
This beauty
The Hedberg, Conservatorium of Music, Tasmania.

As surely as

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Leaves are biding
Their time till fall
Soaking in sunshine
Cascading green wall

Clouds cover mountains 
Blanketing dew
Drifting to sea
Each morning new

Human way of being
If ever any question
Is we're always feeling
All feel the same as you

Falling

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Swept
Breath
Fall

Off their feet
Taken away
On their knees

Sounds divine?
We have a lifetime
To work it out
How to live in love

From this position
Upturned
Breathless
Lying low

We will need
Every day
However long
It should take

To know
How to stand
Held hands
Walk on
Artists of Tasmania ~ William Buelow Gould, Kennedia prostrata, Red prostrate creeper. C 1837.

Allport Library and Museum Collection, State Library of Tasmania.

Ruffled

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Pure delight
Little fingers find
Feathery treasure
Waving its finery

We shed parts 
Of ourselves
For friends keep
To admire

In sharing
They grow
Lighter
Fly higher

Lament
Those of us
Left behind
Artists of Tasmania ~ Lucienne Rickard, loss of wildlife on Lord Howe Isl. Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery.

Indelicate words

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The opening scene and theme
Of Four Weddings and a Funeral
Say the most indelicate word
In such a proper way

To convey intense feelings
For somebody or thing
Fear of missing out on love
The act of not giving in

Perhaps this word invades my mind
In such a proper way of late
Simply because frustration of
No other words to say

When someone has captured completely 
All senses pervading with
The delight in submitting willingly
To the plight of love's great gift