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whistle loudly as it flies
the swooping magpie intent
on claiming it's territory
wattle bird's beak clack
landing in the holm oak scares
the white naped honey eater
all around the pond early
morning birds come to drink
but the newly arrived little
pardelote lies dead
noisy miners are suspects
yet carry on their crimes
of killing other birds
mr hare lopes past unconcerned
his long black tipped ears
pointing east
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or a feeling deep
inside shining through
eyes which mirror
beauty,longing for
wild open spaces
riding a wild horse
swallowing the ground
with fierceness and rage
in early morning mists.....
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knowing the how
but not the why
endings of a life
varies so much
leaving questions we cannot answer
acceptance is a tree
standing bending
to the wild winds
comfort the grieving
this is an expression for a man i only met twice, who chose to go
before being hospitalized with a painful incurable disease
and left a loving wife and family to grieve for a compassionate
and loving man
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like a rabbit caught
in a spotlight
i stayed enthralled
till you departed through the veil
and left me bereft
not knowing for a while
how to live without you
life goes on so they say
and so it does making the mountain
no easier to climb yet
throwing up vistas
which left me breathless
and my boots were killing me....
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we breathe you in
as delicious rose scent
all day we breathe
at night the breath
is full of croaking frogs
sitting on my pillow
keeping their damp noses
on my cheek
sleep sits by the window
watching the moon....
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here in Willunga a place
of trees with underground
communications
on which we walk
at times unknowingly
foot prints on joy
they show in flowers
up high where they breath
energy onto us
to carry us through the day.....
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look, i have lived
too long in the future
for the god of my childhood
demanded i be good
and behave
now ideas are changing
we don't know how to let loose
as we have lost the key
to unlock that unholy
chain respectfully
my wildness clamours
at the door chaos
demands the revenge
which you said is yours
will the gate open to the now
revealing vistas which old eyes
saw without understanding?
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the golden thread
is a steadying hand
in the small of my back
for moments of doubt
and confusion
dissolve when i remember
that small pressure
to take the plunge
into the black hole
where dragons live
to be faced and turned
into welcoming givers
of our daily bread
wine also for a humble
table in a sunlit garden....
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my soul is a pelican
sitting up high surveying
the bay full of fish
we will not choose
those with barbs
their hooks claim to love us
preserve us from their falsity
and have us land safely
on the island
surrounded by cockles....
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with ears pricked
saying look look
at that strange huge insect
spraying mist all over those vines
i will give him a carrot
to sooth his shattered nerves
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gold pours down
branches of the holm oak
this morning
angels catch it in bucket loads
to sell it in the market
without success
for the people didn't recognize
the value of early morning
light....
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lord
i am grateful
for all the friends
who stood by me in my hour of need
forgive me my arrogance
in thinking i lived life on my own
let the meaning of my life
be a prayer
like a river
a clear and sparkling river
that circles all the earth
and cleans it of aggression ....
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the light which rises each morning
to paint the trees with gold
hides the blackbird
looking at the bronze wing
says i am here
do you not see me?
how do we miss
such loveliness
when we refuse to open our eyes
is a total mystery
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who lived here once
before me on this dark
fertile cracking soil
standing tall with one leg
bent resting on the other
waiting for a kangaroo
spear shooting home
to feed his family
tribe around a fire
watching wood bring life
for them to go walkabout
the gum tree knows
