We play, rest, rise Woven skein unwinding Houses apart, river abreast Taking tea on balcony
Always a mystery of two minds No sensation for downcast eyes Cascading words lost and find Fruitless picking out motivations
The bottom of pot, cooled Renewed, steeped brew simmering heat Rose between two cheeks
A blush sweet from scorching sun Below 42 degrees Blistering sleet
Homebody, I nest alone Full grown tenderlings Binding fallen threads Of existence into thermal weave
So that you, like father Can protect and heal wind kissed skin As salty drops slide winsomly A welcome sting. Long missed love
Ursula Halpin, (1972- ) ‘Displaced Mary, Mother of hope’ ~ inspired by Irish lace. Weaves stories of women and fragmented families. Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery. Twist exhibition 2023
In all your stories In that universe of yours I noticed, you're alone Haunted by voices Evading natural horrors Sense of place strong As if wedded to landscape Betrothed to the sea Enamoured by creatures A sensory plea Once raging storms settle Sunrise warms skin Will one day a touch Be welcomed in
I sat, momentarily In the place Where we parted Surreptitiously Picked up Where we left off Ease smoothed out Wrinkles on forehead Free to think As I should Took the side road To stop at favourite Coffee shop alone Contentment seeps in A hot air balloon Could not lift me Away from home Our haunt How apt is that word?
If only one knew the varietal Upon first sight One would not wonder why Petals faded After such a short time Once saw the blush of full bloom Though only an old image Ill wondered if my touch Would arouse another season
Caladenia carnea, pink fingers orchids of Tasmania.
Once a many ravens
Perched on picnic walls
Encroaching so daringly
Staring back and forth
Babes in arms were cradled
Toddlers stopped from harm
Backed away hauntingly
Edge from warm spring calm
Escape to caves below
Calcified remains.
Hundred years a column
Ancestors' way laid
Cacophany of cries
Heard across the skies
Sharp eye of witnesses
Those who bled and died
~Inspired by The Nightingale Film (2018)
Some loves are like a sea salty touch chill to the skin blissful diving in on the fringe waves of grief crash upon disheveled shores tumbling in weeds flotsam and jetsam
Some loves are a range of mountains and hills traverse through blinding snow and wind sudden change dappled sun kisses closed eyes before hides behind peaks searching caves within
Some loves are like a cloud begging me - look up! enamored by the majesty of sky mirrored by our smiles and glances once dark and stormy sea takes on new beauty because of thee
