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

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.

Belonging

If a sprout takes root
On an Island
That drifts away
Heading South
It was always there

Seeds that flew in
On the breeze
Hosted by birds
Do we blame these
Mixed leaves?

So what happens
When I wander hills
Wondering whether
This bloom or that
Warrants attention

Is all life
Worth a mention?

Soft landing

Landing softly on my feet
After jumping
Off a cliff
In the dark
Claws out
Behind me

A sparrow turns
Says to me
This I do
Frequently

Pecking up seed
Nature cared
To scatter
Just for me

Eyeing another
Diving so flippantly
Decided to free fall
In her slip stream

A warm blanket of air
Covers over my landing
Softly swiftly
With ease

Re-member

When we are falling
Apart
We need someone to
Remember
Who we were when
Younger
Taller
Darker
Slender

Putting back together
Pieces
Of our bodies and how we
Connect
In our own story, chosen
Family

Those people who inspire
Courage
Surround yourself with
Love

The day is all we've got
Whether apart or
Together

Ivory tower

She sits enthroned
Her head of stone
Arms incapable
Of waving royally

Disempowered
For her beauty
Strength, immortality
Divine femme

No king of beasts
Can protect her
From iconoclasm
Cult postmodern

Mother to all
Yet none to rest
On her thighs
Soothed by breast

A body erect
All that remains
Of love
‘Principal goddess of Phrigia, ‘Mother of all gods’, Cybele was the personification of Nature’s power of growth.’

~John Elliott Classics Museum, University of Tasmania.

Elemental

A warm igloo
In frozen tundra

A shady oasis
In desert down under

A cool clear pool
On white hot sands

A fresh trout stream
On vast open lands

A ripe berry vine
In dry scrub bush

A quiet space
In mid city rush

Elemental forces
We cannot contain

She comes to me
Like a forest fire

Cleansing opening
Ingiting on the breeze

Spreading seeds
Clearing debris

What holds us fast
From inevitable pain

We search seemingly
Aimlessly

It is always there
Hiding plain sight

A thrilling dare
To make it known

Love is never
In vain
Bellerive foreshore, nipaluna/ Hobart, lutruwita/ Tasmania