Writing a
memoir is
a life’s work.
It has to
be earned
by the lines
of your face,
the wrinkles
of your hands,
the night fears
of your sleep,
the weariness
of your brain,
the failing of
your body,
and finished
just in time.
Tag: Australia
Happy to see you
The Choughs
are back
doing some
gardening for
me, and the
sight of their
ungainly walk
and their happy
family warms
the cockles of
my cold winter
heart.
Seasons
Plumes of smoke
on a cold
Winter’s day
bring thoughts
of warmth and
community
and human
busyness and
achievement.
Plumes of smoke
on a hot
Summer’s day
bring thoughts
of destruction
and terror
and loss and
anger and
failure.
Mine
I wonder what
he was thinking,
that first man
who chewed a
mouthful of
pigment and
then blew it
over his hand
pressed tight
against the wall
of a cave?
Blissful
The Butcher Bird
singing,
beautifully,
from the old
dead tree
this morning,
doesn’t know about
coronavirus.
Absent friends
The road
outside my farm,
always busy
with commuter
traffic, is
empty, this
morning, as
far as the
eye can see.
Family ties
One lonely
Wedgetail
Eagle
in a tree,
along came two
more and then
there were three.
Morning greetings
Three eagles on
a windy morning
circling circling
low above
my head and
calling, calling:
“Here we are”
“Here we are”
“We love wind”
“We love wind”
“Our domain”
“Our domain”.
And then they
slide away
slide away
to another hill.
“Here we are”.
Raindrops keep failing
I weep
bitter tears
when drought
breaking rain
is forecast
and I get
just a little
bit less than
bugger all
Darkness at noon
The fog
of war,
the smoke
of climate
change
