It’s a sign

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

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

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

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

No eye dear

Placing one pair
Of bird watching
Binoculars
Inside the cap
Of a navy hat
The dichotomy
Of my life
In a cardboard box
To move again
Another new start
This one makes ten

I recall the power
Of words
And silence
Both can make
You laugh
Or cry
Both can be used
As weapons
Or protection

So I look keenly
Through looking glass
At feathered friends
Deserving our attention

While hiding away
To collect
Dust and mites
Gold braid
Felt and thread
That hold together
Memories
Of a time
When men were blind

If only I understood
That my words
Held power
Over you
I would use it
For good
To say only
I love you
If I could

Foxhole

Crouched in the dark
Too wired to sleep
Scratching out words
By dim candlelight

Writing to believe
This thing called love
Is real and true
When at first sight

Never knowing
Cares for plight
Thinks of them all
Under starry night

Will ever read
Or make reply
Moved on too quickly
Or said goodbye

Better to never
Know the truth
When belief in love
Is keeping alive

Falling

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

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

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