Here is a link to the latest walk I have published on VictoriaWalks walkingmaps https://walkingmaps.com.au/walk/5485
Here is a link to the latest walk I have published on VictoriaWalks walkingmaps https://walkingmaps.com.au/walk/5484
Here is the link to the small local Newsletter I edit for our small Strathbogie Tableland community Tableland Talk July
The roll is a fast
The die is cast
Will luck outlast
the spin I’m in?
The dotted faces
turn and prop
bounce and hop
My future turns
on fortune’s stop
High risk taking
Bound for glory
is my folly
Wracked and ruined
that’s my story
Highs feed lows
on pure vainglory
Today’s dVerse prompt from Ingrid was for a subject of each poet’s choosing. This one came from a draft I had on gambling, a subject I have been trying to get my head around.
Here is a link to the latest walk I have published on VictoriaWalks walkingmaps https://walkingmaps.com.au/walk/5483
Juliet is all slick and wet her long hair in her eyes she has been hit by an idiot drunk driving by bye bye Romeo roams idly by sees the girl on the ground He looks at her quizzically then realises what he has found Juliet breathes in gasps as blood pools under her back She looks up sees Romeo last look last love as limbs go slack Romeo’s not much you know but this time things are different He wipes the hair from glazed eyes and wonders where her life went Juliet rises above the scene She watches Romeo He cradles her head gently in his lap He whimpers out a moan Romeo struck by love’s full fist his only love has gone He whines he weeps at his loss Death into his soul creeps Juliet bears final witness to Romeo’s last testament “Did my heart truly love till now?” he whispers For the first time he knows what love meant “Good night Good night” “Thus with a kiss I too die” He declares to her death pale face Romeo bends his head down tenderly brushes her cold lips with his own he lets her head down lightly beside him as he lies quietly beside her takes her right hand with his left Romeo from his pocket retrieves a knife meant for other men he eases the blade between his ribs it finds his broken heart As blood pools under his back his life is also gone Juliet utters one last cry of grief before she disappears or was that one last cry of relief in hope he reappears for never was there a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo
Ingrid’s prompt for this week’s dVerse poetics was “Homage to the Bard.” I chose to write a poem approximately on the theme of Romeo and Juliet. https://dversepoets.com/2022/04/26/poetics-homage-to-the-bard/
Two women sit under a thatched roof
supported by rafters
coarse wood brown
smiling and chatting together
Chickens scratch at the edge of their shelter
a bold shiny colourful rooster
a big shiny black hen
Their surroundings are a circular patch
dry dusty earth red
small mud brick dwellings
define a perimeter orange
The late autumn day is lit by a cold sun of
clean blue light
One woman sits above the other higher
she is perched
Her long thin legs hang over a shallow edge
a rug covered platform
She is the older in a thick faded purple
dress a pullover yellow
is topped with a scarf white around her neck
Her head is swaddled in a woollen wrap crimson
it frames a face sun
lit, weathered and aged by decades of labour
Spaces such as this
fields such as she can choose
to see at anytime
will forever be green and brown
She gazes pensively across
open communal space
She ponders her past with pleasure and regret
she speaks of things new
old, deep and trivial
Her arthritic hands clasped in a lap
of gratitude flesh
Her battered Nike sneakers peek out from
the long layers of fabric above grey and yellow
her face is calm
Her future as it will be
The younger sits cross legged
a woven mat under her strung tan
Together cultivating lines of okra
drying under sheltering eaves ragged
shadows of indigo host
hangings vertically in bright green
unclasped necklaces ornaments
of metres adorn the space with a decorative
interior that creates a sense
The drying shed colours the day, the place
it’s people making
according to the crop
a pride of place for transient
prettiness and implications
security, work well done
Here for generations other
younger women have
sat for hours
days post harvest preparing
sustaining products of manual fieldwork
for deep grey winter consumption
Her dress is brighter golds
magentas her hands are as yet
unaffected by the gnarly
growths destined by labour
She repeats centuries old weaving
patterns confidently efficiently unhurried
listening quietly thoughtfully respectfully
Tales of the past wash over her black and white
through her as water of life in delicate pastels
as hope as comfort
She knows here there are will be
still lessons to be gleaned
conversation the reflections of her elder
The younger a willing learner of
a quasi meditative state borne soft pink
by the methodical repetitious
nature of her work it is was as surely known
the best way for learning lessons
by the word of her people
successes and failures
retelling that never ceases to inform
warm warn entertain and delight
There is comfort in the learning
a knowing that all the natural obstacles over
which there is little control life
will continue on on on
There is no question about how
time is to be spent
day by day this is dictated
by seasons culture necessity
green yellow brown grey
There is no concept of time ticking away
each day is known-quantity where
choice is limited but colour rich
life is sometimes unpredictable dangerous
set fluid simple
giving and taking with impunity
Time has no measure
life itself opaque
Two women commune as did
two before them
back it goes into the dark
blue of distance
where many women become every one
sitting together, stringing up green okra
another part of every year’s never ending
They told me about her hair
before I met her.
It was green.
I thought it the best hair
I’d ever seen.
The fall of her locks
topped long flowing frocks
that ran neck to toe
as they swept the ground clean.
In bare feet
so she walked
I should say
her hair bounced away
like gentle waves of the sea.
In long flowing robes
from her head to her toes
luminous bright green
and shimmering a sheen,
she moved as one
supple, undulating dream.
Her hips that were square
rolled sensually there
under rippling fabric I deemed.
Her shoulders carried smoothly.
Her pose held beautifully.
Her skin smooth as polished gold.
Her head held proud,
and defiantly bold.
Her face was of grace
framed in fine green lace
at the edges of the green hood
folded around her neck.
From the dripping sleeves of her gown,
where long hands emerged brown,
slender fingers completed the scene.
Bright brown eyes
looked curiously around,
‘til she stopped,
tall and sure
image of a noble queen.
She had turned toward me.
I, the watcher was seen,
and I found myself bound
to the tall brown woman in green.
A common Australian terrestrial bird that spends most of its time on the ground for foraging and breeding. Prefers semi to open habitats. I often see them on rural tracks running the wheel ruts.
The latest walk I have published on Victoria Walks walkingmaps can be found here: https://walkingmaps.com.au/walk/5279
See the latest walk I have published on Victoria Walks walking maps here: https://walkingmaps.com.au/walk/5274
I seek to find the tree where and when I find it I will know it for its role in my life spirit connecting totem white fella dreaming me my original culture kit equipped for consumption and strife for directionless floating missing address of life’s mystery missing where I fit cut from “other” as with a knife finished as animate factotum I seek the key in nature’s remit to open the door of relief to release my soul forgotten I walk the bush incessantly search nature’s bridge exquisite in enduring mortal grief to reveal immortal heart re-woken where entity is true and free where body and soul will sit with cup and bowl I turn new leaf full of love and hoping
Today Sanaa prompts we poets to write in the form of rimas dissolutas. In this form each stanza comprises of lines that end with a rhyme matching the corresponding line in ever other stanza. https://dversepoets.com/2022/01/04/poetics-exploring-the-realm-of-french-literature-first-stop-marseille/
1. The Blues Brothers Original Motion Picture Soundtrack. If Aretha Franklin, Ray Charles and The Blues Brothers can’t make you want to shake a tail feather – nothing can. Music makes my day, every day.
2. A fresh celery stick smeared with crunchy peanut butter along its middle. Groovy!
3. Watching seedlings grow in the greenhouse. I had forgotten how fascinating it is to plant a seed, check it regularly, see it emerge and leaf. Such an everyday occurrence and yet so incredible.
4. Taking the time to get informed and then complete a significant survey with objectivity. I am confident the Euroa underpass surpasses the overpass. The Euroa Connect volunteers have done a very professional job of campaigning accordingly.
5. Removing a scourge of our bushland – Blackberries. Here, and in many parts of Australia, there are no constraints on their growth. They can smother vast tracts of indigenous flora. This particular work has been four years in the making. It felt so good to finally start mulching these dead canes. Once this area along the Seven Creeks is revegetated it is going to look its natural self and amazing once again!