the colour of our lives

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

Archive for the tag “observation”

westward leading

NorthShoreStrip

North Shore Strip

“I’m back”,
he said, “and
those in the know will
figure out,
from the photographs,
where I’ve been”, with
that annoying smirk and
poorly-concealed
wink of those with
self-important
secrets. Read more…

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resonator

jerked from sleep by a loud name – his – urgent
stumble down the hall, into her room.
– Dad, I had a nightmare, and he lifts the weight
of her growing body into a hug.
– Want me to sleep next to you, in the spare
bed? – Yeah. – Let’s go to the toilet first. – OK.
Carry her down the hall, and back, still sleepy,
clinging.
– Want to tell me what the dream was? – Yes.
And there are good and bad lands; white-striped,
face-painted warriors milling on the far shore.
Mum is there too, defending. The narrow water
between good and evil is leapt, breached, and
none of it makes sense in a narrative way…
– Thanks for telling me … we’re going to go to
sleep now. Love you. –  Mmm.
A single rustling turn; breathing, regular, quiet.
Nothing, then a bronze-shelled insect, closer,
along a vertical wall, closer in the pale tungsten
light, and he is awake again, facing his own
demons.

gaps

blue_bikethey all have
smart
phones and intense

powers of
deep
concentration;

worlds in their
palms,
friends on their mind

he rides a
plain
blue bicycle

picks up good
lengths
of string and wire

in case they
may
become useful


Image from seeker-of-revelation at deviantart

the driver

The driver hated
us this morning; standing
hard on the brakes, bus
lurching around each corner.
Getting off, we roll our eyes.

The bus, proxy for
argument lost with his wife,
a bullying boss?
In fuming economy
of words, he masters his day

while we, the passive,
are content, simply, to arrive
intact. We accept
out of respect, selfishness,
perhaps self-recognition.

.

under cypress leaves

under cypress leaves
soft breeze pushes riverward
– dancing points of light

.

beyond the river
city stains scarp-horizon-sky
– yellow fades to blue

.

wind-stuccoed water
under incandescent sun
– golden radiance

.

over golden sand
clear water rippling shoreward
bands of pollen grains

.

lone resting human
bicycle leans on park bench
tired eyes squint east

.

Matilda Bay sunrise

signs

tolimanI know a man in my street who
every night opens his front door
and wanders out into the night, where
the tense, crouching roar of the city is
mercifully interspersed with the
soothing hiss of wind-teased eucalypts
and gentle nocturnal songs of courtship.
Walking around his car, he checks
the windows and doors; satisfied in
its security, he steps out from under
the eaves, head up, searching the sky,
eyes drawn to bright Toliman and
Achernar, high in the southern sky.

He straightens his neck, lowering his
gaze to the east, to city lights lighting
up dusky, gold, on the waiting clouds.
As he secures his house once more,
in a silent farewell to the small creatures
of the night, I hope that, one day soon,
he finds the sign he seeks.

.

pull out

pull out
those headphones
the music sings and soothes
but the tree frogs
are calling softly in
the twilight and
you are walking
home
to the ones you love
.

soil

 

gravity, air and water
strip the weary planet bare;
rocks shrink and change while
ocean-bound, forming, for a moment
in time, a fleeting skin of soil
soilroot
 
(and again as a tanka)

rocks shrink and change while
gravity, air and water
strip the weary earth;
a sustaining skin of soil
holds the transience of life

falling

meteor burns a
brief and fading track along
a cool midnight sky
many nights of craned necks show
patience comes before good luck

the hands of the earth

In small ratcheting voices
creekline frogs name their
watercourses: creak, creak,
see-saw then hush     as if

taller eyes might get a bearing.
Over the distant groans of the
highway, a morphing aluminous
sky pushes cool air through

spring-green eucalypts into
fields of hissing weeds, dancing
seedheads above soil and stones
the colour of upturned palms.

Black ants hurry in parallel
queues with no beginning or
end, searching the hands of
the earth for invisible bounty.

morning retreat

This time the sun chooses to
pick bright points of light from
the green translucence of leaves
and birdsong pierces the still
air; when three people can sit,
together without words
before the sun retreats upward
into spring clouds

Commuting

a radiant dawn
an anxious rush to the stop
misses the moment

wires droop from ears
every seat a separate world
– no eye contact

after the bus
the corner of his eye weeps
tears in the cool air

music in his ears
walking out of time
disconcerts

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