the colour of our lives

poetry • celebration • faith • nature • humanity • imperfections • glory

cycle path, Kings Park

the bush disguises the edges
of this concrete scar; its strong-billed
parrots soften the edges with banksia
cones, and the trees themselves
drop spent leaves in a tangled mat
where neither feet tread nor narrow wheels roll

in most seasons, forest-subtle greens
are interrupted by points of different
colours; vivid wildflowers, and the
assorted litter of civilisation. Summer’s
heat is noisy; sprinting lizards crackle
treeward in sunparched leaf-fall, and
spring’s loaded pods de-stress in random
pops and moist metastability

the scarline’s made for the civilised
ones; workbound walker’s daydreams
fanned into rude consciousness in
cyclists’ manic slipstreams; sweaty
joggers in loose, conversational packs;
wandering handheld couples, and
street weary mothers pushing prams


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One thought on “cycle path, Kings Park

  1. it looks unfinished – and it probably is.

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