This Old Love, seafaring ship Of finest wood & Craftsmanship Its maiden voyage Some four years hence When feral seas drove us West I've sailed her all around the world Docked in places ne'er afore found Secure at anchor, I'd explore Wonders of the world unfold Through rocky isles and coral reefs Its bow has turned me safe to keep All precious cargo Fit and well Squabbling over fine ship's bell The final storm, the wrecking one Wind whipped sail and broached hull She turned us in to sheltered bay The weight of shore broke her away We battled through torrential rain Huddled in the bow all day Then clear, still morn Sun did arise All our crew woke in surprise Old Love was gone to seabed reef For seals and manta rays to sleep We walked ashore and carried on Mountains climbed, beaches swum Though many tales I have to tell Of Old Love's ventures riding swell A ghost ship now No one believes Such vessels are imaginary I tip my hat, to one who'll come To sail away into the sun For tinker, sailor, Captain be This Old Love was made by me
A dandelion Much despised Hardy flower For every dig Sows more seed Until it spreads Its reedy feet All over neighbours' Fallow field A tincture tea To pep the heart Set flight in spring A work of art As little copters Spin on breeze To plant ungovernable Bright young weed
A skein of yarn Can simply not run free If tugged or pulled Will surely wrap In tangled knots of weeks Gently lift Like pick up sticks To unwind tenderly All to work it Round about To clothe Bitter westerly
Don't let me near a bumblebee A lizard, owl or slimy leech No butterflies or hilltop scree Invertebrates nor anemone Away with bells of pink or white Dangling in the dappled light No trudging through the crunchy snow Or campstove fires in cabins glow Pandani, fagus, kangaroo grass If you want to air the grief Far away from nature's best Put this cure-all to the test Nature lover, wandering free One never forgets an ecologist!
First time I kissed you By accident, on cheek I whispered, "see you soon" Ablaze, I stepped onto river's edge - once where we met - Time and again To cool my thoughts.
Last time we hugged It was all you A friendly pat around broad shoulders As I stooped down Like a medal winner Empty handed
I could not throw my arms around . It was orchestrated by another .. my arms were loaded with jackets and books wrapped in cotton ... I knew it would be the last.
Since then, how carefully the silence is conducted through an orchestra of friends.
While I write lyrics to music I can only imagine.
Iron Pot Lighthouse, Cape Blessington, Bruny Island in the distance.
Blossoms burst on piles of rubble Pushed aside building highways through suburbia They catch the afternoon sun A showy illumination of pink hits your eyes as you drive towards bleak horizon.
That's what it's like to meet her It captivates immediately Exclaim The blossoms are out! Sit in wonder as to whether Fruit might be produced From the meddling of bees upon flower What kind?
I still wonder Was it too early, then, to produce anything? In the life of our young tree Did the bees delay? Did the wind invade and blow soft petals away? Or is the display merely decorative? Beauty is a keeper. Four years on, I should surely wonder.
More so than The breaking of bread It's the gentle tap of rain on tin roof That turns into a gale While two souls gently unfurl Tummies full of soup Grateful for gables to collect drops As hopes, fears and dreams swim in the air.
Steamy plunge of tannins Soaking in tea cups Stories waft like mist On cold winter mornings As moody songs fill the silent space between two beings.
Wild wings of wind pick up frothy tips of waves and cast them off in spray. Wow, we proclaim. Shed our outer skin to soak in deep ocean. No words needed. A watershed moment.
Shelves brimming with books A leather covered nook Lace curtain dances On morning breeze I hurriedly go to work
One day these pages Will open to me I will read aloud To my love over tea
A neighbour stops To look longingly At the morning moon Snaps it with a long lens While my blue screen eyes glow
One day I will wake By the light of the moon Lying on soft tufts of dry moss We will curl and trace the sun in morning ritual
Ginger cat curls in winter coat Around blue flowers soaking low lying sun Lush grass is mown by guinea pigs on a run New natives thrive in builder's rubble.
One day, on eve of Spring I will wade through winter garden's tailings Gather barrowloads of greens to reveal fresh ground We will chirp like birds at herbs that survived all odds. Plant companions for their year ahead.
Count the stars of heaven 