mistletoe on ceramic tile. pencil, indelible, carbon and crayon
Monthly Archives: April 2019
Shades of Strathbogie
Visitors to Strathbogie see
Verdant hills of rolling green
Vast tors shaped fantastically
Amongst which sprites roam unseen
The tales are told of ancient times
When across the landscape and in the glens
First Nations travelled along song lines
For sustenance, spirit and their ken
Their spectres still hunt the Tableland
Taking what’s needed leaving the rest
Some of us glimpse their wraithlike bands
Ghosts flitting through trees as spirit mist
Their home the forest barely survives
The existence they shared quickly fades
Both cut down by lethal scythes
They fell like wheat to harvest blades
Fear
I feel it behind me
stalking and faceless
skulking and malevolent
The hairs on the back of my neck
stand on end
like highly sensitised
oh so brittle antennae
I walk more briskly
I am tempted to run
but not tempted to tempt fate
Each step announces
a deepening sense of dread
a heightened anxiety
a rising feeling of panic
Evil is about tonight
amongst the chill night air
and the cold dull haloes
of the too distant streetlights
There it is again
The faintest of scrapings
rapid and sequential
advancing along the pavement behind me
Demonic footsteps of malicious intent
portents of pain and suffering
They strain my hearing to the point
of questioning whether I hear anything at all
but I know they are there
coming
closing
My eyes dart urgently
from side to side
A tic
twitches my cheek
I am shaken to my core
I startle at a moth that brushes my cheek
My head flicks left
My head flicks right
My fully dilated pupils
black as any pit in hell
scream at me for more light
and scour the edges of darkness
for a bolt hole
Sanctuary
any hope to cling too
Peripheral vision
reams in the sidelines
desperately seeking refuge
struggling to see ahead and aside at the same time
Sweat begins
to bead my brow
Cold sweat
Shivers
wrack my body
I begin to whimper
I don’t want to hurt
to plead for my life, my soul
for mercy
I don’t want to die alone
I don’t want to die here
and now
A movement
in the corner of my eye
I stumble in fright
miss the kerb
roll my ankle
The pain shoots up into my calf
and something tears
I gasp
My flight becomes hobbled
I limp on in fear
dragging my injured foot
scraping the rubber of the sole
on the hard surface
of coarse concrete
Then
comes the first touch
An icy point
A razor-sharp prickle
pierces my jacket
In one swift motion
needlelike it penetrates the fabric
just breaking the surface of my skin
From my lower back
a cold finger of ice
tracks a paralyzing pathway
up toward my right shoulder
Muscles cramp
then seize
into an excruciating knotted strip
of rock solid pain
Futile teardrops begin to fall
I sob in absolute horror
and misery
“Oh God, help me, somebody help me!”
I wheel
there is nothing there
The second touch
burns
as a keenly sharp edge
slices a clean shallow line
fully across my left cheek
This one is hot
like dry ice
The blood flows
as thick warm syrup
It makes its way down my pallid face
mixing with the tears and snot of fear
dripping onto my stained clothes
gluey on my hands
I didn’t even sense the blade coming
let alone what wielded it
Dread wells up inside me
threatens to overwhelm me
I pursue escape
from terrifying pursuit
The road is empty
straight
as far as the opaque darkness
allows my eyes to see
Where pavement ends
terraformed tracts of bare earth begin
A homeless housing estate
At the periphery of illumination
feebly provided by each dreary streetlight
is murk
thick with ominous foreboding
It envelops the world
on this souless, moonless night
Hope fades
The third touch
is a heavy thump
in the small of my back
It cripples me
I stagger
It is all I can do not to collapse
I must stop to breathe
to fall on my haunches
straining to fill my airless lungs
I double over
when I need to stand
I pause
when I need to run
I falter
when I need courage
I give into weakness
when I need to find strength
I heave
when I need to draw breath
The fourth touch
comes as a surprise
Desperately preoccupied with surroundings and survival,
my head and neck are parted,
as I miss the prophecy of imminent death
but fleetingly register
oh timely release
oh sweet oblivion
Ipad pencil sketching experiment

a worried look
Savoured Moments #1
I wake at 4 in the morning
In the small hours
When small things matter
and ideas can repeat in your brain
taking on more significance than they deserve
eroding your ability to unwind
Like a tap dripping in the next room
But not this morning
This morning it is soft rain I hear
gently tinkling on the metal
of the carport roof outside
It is warm under the covers
I feel secure
as your soft regular breathing resumes
after you roll onto your side next to me
Was it an interrupted dream?
I like not knowing everything that goes on in your head
After all these years you can still surprise me
I snuggle up to your back
and rest my forehead between your shoulder blades
As I contemplate what it is to be us
your heels settle into the angle of my ankles
your calves align with my shins
your thighs mold to mine
and your backside schmoozes deliciously into my groin
I raise my head to create more space
so I can wrap my arms around you
pulling your upper body into mine
As my arms embrace your warmth
I soak up your textures
I draw in your smell
With my eyes closed
I sense every point at which we touch
I feel our body rhythms synchronise
as my muscles relax
and my mind smiles
with the intimate pleasure
of as much body contact as we can muster
I savour the moment
as peaceful sleep reclaims me
Hopkin’s Falls, Victoria
Image
A pretty spot for a pretty shot
The Bees
I walk under the flowering trees
I hear a mighty incessant drone
The canopy is filled with bees
The bees that pollinate our homes
A gift from flower to flower they spread
The food chain thrives and grows
They keep all animals and people fed
With pollen transfer and honey flows
At our peril we ignore their plight
Bees are dying around the world
As they depopulate out of sight
Desiccated bodies shrivel and curl
We blithely march into the future
Pesticide monoculture deforestation
While bees cooperate store and nurture
We blithely march toward desolation
Save the bees should read the banner
The banner we have left unfurled
Plant more trees in every manor
Preserve this insect and save the world
David Hockney on iPad (someone had to do it)
David Hockney on iPad copied from the NGV Mag cover photo Nov/Dec 2016