Poetry

Kitchen – 5/11/17

In the heart of the house,
Hand on the towel, drying the casserole dish
When the house takes a deep breath
Pushing in spring air,
And drawing my eyes to the open door and the white butterflies kissing the dying grass.
-zu
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Poetry

The Wind Will Not Stay

It’s hard to find a meaningful thought, when you don’t really know what you want to say.
Look at the way the wind beats the grass into soft waves running up the bank of the dam. You can see it start from the furtherest blade, it eddies and swirls till it runs out with a sigh at your feet. The rustling of the wild oats is the chiming of thousands of tiny paper bells.
Remember when we ran fast through these paddocks, your soft blonde hair laughing in the wind. We filled our shoelaces with itchy golden grass seeds and never felt them prick until we ran inside. These paddocks were filled with wild bulls and spaceships, I had the knack of making all our play seem real.the cool dark green shadows were forests filled with ancient steadfast trees and all our favourite stories. Back then we knew with absolute certainty that the sunshine would last forever.
And it has! Look at it. I’m sitting in the hard trodden path between the sea of grass, and the sandy beaches are filled with sunshine, it pools in every divot of the glossy green poplar leaves, it skims the top of the wild oat waves.
Heading back, my feet take me unerringly to the faded path cutting down the bank of the dam. It was made long ago by calves, exuberant with life, running up and down the bank, again and yet again, as their mothers, large with sweet grass stood steadfast and chewed.
After I slam the screen door behind me, I strip off the shoes and socks made prickly by golden grass seeds, which I have picked up just by a quiet walk through sunny waves.
-zu
Poetry

Why Not Stop and Stare – date:a long time ago I wrote this poem

We’re going down the highway, and we’re almost back home,

The sun is at its highest and it glistens on the dome.

We’re skidding round the corner and rolling down the straight,

And avoiding all the road-hogs, full of rage and hate.

We’re gliding past some road-kill, down along the track,

And until we’ve gone right by, I won’t look back.

For they did no wrong, and only died by chance,

And we rush right by them, with no second glance.

Galahs fly overhead, with no second thoughts,

As we speed in plastic bubbles, for they think us funny sorts.

As we drive along the highway, not stopping on the way,

With our artificial air, we could drive like this all day!

No time to turn down creek beds, as the willows nod and sway,

No time to stop at all and we simply cannot stay.

No time to watch the kangaroo, with a joey in her pouch,

No time to wait for native birds, who come if you silently crouch.

No time to lay on golden grass and stare up at the sun,

Speeding past in plastic bubbles, you miss a lot of fun.

No time to crush a gum leaf, and smell the gum-fresh air,

As we fly on by, going as fast as we possibly dare.

As we swoop on down the highway, for we’re very nearly home,

And the afternoon sun, glistens on the highway’s dome.

We’re speeding round the corner and flashing down the straight,

For we simply cannot stop, and we simply cannot wait.

And I stopped and watched the plastic cars, rushing till the end,

Swooping out of sight, under a gum tree, round a bend.

And I sighed behind them, why not stop beside the track,

And turn down a creek bed and don’t worry to go back?

Lie down in the shade in the golden grass that’s fair,

And learn to stop and stand and stare.

And take a gum leaf from a gum and crush it in your hand,

And learn to really see what is good and grand.

Why not stay till night fall, and watch the ghost gums dance,

And wander past the creek bed and take the track by chance.

For the earth is much too wonderful, not to stop and stare,

And gaze upon a joey’s face, and dance without a care.

 

-zu

This was such a long time ago. I actually wrote this while I was driving, on the way home on the highway with my family. As I was driving, I couldn’t exactly write, so I memorized the whole thing somehow and wrote it down when we got home. I believe we were very close to home at the time otherwise this would have been lost into oblivion for all time.

Poetry

dVerse Quadrille #37: What Leads to Fear – 2/8/17

Running that’s the truth
And tipping, tripping, lie, or tie me down
Too late
Unexpectedly at the sheer drop
Arms windmilling
Against the fearful drop
And back I tip
Running again
Whipping though lovely foliage
In dancing copperplated heels
Down amongst the laughing trees.

 

-zu

Following the prompt at dVerse – Quadrille #37–Be Not Afraid.

Please let me know what you think, constructive criticism is always welcome!

 

Poetry

Blue – 20/7/17

Be all the blue you don’t want to see in the sky

That bitter note of sunshine rules the skies

Blow up the water tank the roos don’t mind the bangs

Leave the pieces laying on the dust

Silky dust wanting water and somehow I don’t care

Under the verandah the clouds are gathering

Could this be the end of all we’re hearing now

Or is this the only thing keeping us sane.

All I see of me is my shadow on the wall,

Walking down the hall thudding on worn carpet again.

-zu

Everything I write comes back to the word drought. It’s not the worst word once you get to know it. 

Poetry

A Ludicrous Limerick, and High-flown reflections while sitting on a water tank, Part I. – 18/3/17

I see the galah in the tree,
The same time he sees me.
We are both perched high,
But I cannot fly,
So he is the first one to flee.
-zu
Actually he didn’t flee, so I kept writing. 
He was just a baby,
And didn’t know humans are dangerous.
He tilted his head,
And determined me as
No threat.
Focused on more important things,
Like feathers that the wind sets
Askew.
And a wind that could toss him out of,
A tree full of shivers and sunshine.
-also zu