Waiting for Rain

WAITING FOR RAIN

When night comes, the Moon
Swollen heavy with the day's heat
Glows a balloon of gold
In its blue velvet jewellery box
While we toss and sweat
When will the rains come?
Whispered into our damp pillows

Growing Old

GROWING OLD

On a page of encrusted dust

Lapsed sediment

Stroke after stroke

Lava flows

Over past eruptions

Pervading cratered pores

Occupying the native land

Underground, unsullied, undrenched

A fresh and pure spring remembers, waits

My Favourite Poem at this moment

Neil Hilborn created a wonderful, edgy, lost love poem called "OCD".

I just wanted to share it here, because I love it!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vnKZ4pdSU-s

Queen Nor'wester

Queen Nor’wester

She starts small

Tousling the hair of rugby children on a Thursday afternoon

Flinging washing onto the drive, pegs strewn like grass clippings

Bustling leaves off mazes of autumn vines
Kissing ponds into lipsticked white horses

In the evening she shows her teeth

Whipping through macrocarpa hedges

Her tail lashing trampolines to death

Her hot breath dehydrating pasture to stone and dust
She dances in stilettos on the corrugated iron roof

Come twilight she inhales

Ready for the big one

Now she opens her mouth and roars

Shaking sheds from their foundations

Pulling gates out of the farmer’s hand

Yanking trees by their roots to play pick up sticks
Her sharp fangs bite through powerlines

She is the firestarter
Supreme Ruler of the plains

Queen of the Northwest

ANZAC Day 2016

The Poppy – Anzac Day 2016

If I were a poppy, tall, red and proud,

Plucked from a small tuft of land,

I would wish

To be the one,

To grace the distant shores

Where men and women  gather,

In memorial and celebration,

Of those small moments

Which made the difference,

By laying that one poppy

It’s black, keen eye open towards the morning sunshine,

In remembrance.

Alberts poem about fog

Albie brought this home today and I am so proud of him

Anzac Day 2014

Anzac Day 2014

I stood in the sun today

a cool breeze in my hair

Honouring the memory

Of men I have never met

Their hair was full of sand and grit

I have no way to know if the sun shone

on their doomed push

up a beach that no-one had heard of

A shore that meant not much to anyone

Except the local villagers

Who despaired at the boats

The guns, the battle on their shore

The aircraft streaming overhead

For what?

So that I can stand in the sun

Enjoying the cool wind in my hair

With my small children at my side

And honour those men with sadness and pride

In a small village that not many have heard of

But which I call home