I Know Not.


Heave against the large wooden door
Dim and cool with its incense.
Catch the candles flickering glow
Burning for whom, I know not.

Gaze at the ceiling of painted faces,
With bishops, a priest and a nun.
A mosaic of a man on the cross on the wall
With Saints, of whom, I know not.

A woman’s murmur her lips barely move,
From behind me her head scarved and bowed.
Ignoring the snarl of the cars and the trucks
On their way somewhere, I know not.

Another bends to light her candle
Shoulders upright with hope
And stops before him to pray for herself
Or for others, whom I know not.

The old lady shuffles and squints up at me,
Sadness yet life on her face.
She crosses herself and rests on the pew,
To contemplate what, I know not.

The solitude and peace spread its respect
Inside the cavernous space.
The light from the sun twinkles its message
From somewhere beyond, I know not.

A Night in Scottsdale

Green rolling hills, sky so blue,
Into the town, people were few.
Searching the streets for our B & B
Pleasant to the eye that we could see.
Two dogs bounded up to us to greet
Ross and Dean at the steps to meet.
In shorts and t-shirts they weren’t abashed.
They put down their wines in their corner stash.
They were happy to see us they did retort,
Then out came Brian in his singlet and shorts.
Who he was we were never to be told
As he gave us advice he was that bold.
They showed us around their antiqued abode,
Along the wide verandah yes we all strode.
Into our large room with mozzies and brocade,
Here’s your room, for which you’ve paid.
They left us and we sat on the sloping bed,
We looked at each other and scratched our head.
Why was it Scottsdale that we chose to stop?
When there were other places for our heads to drop.
Down to the pub for the only meal in town,
Full of locals and a meal causing frown.
There was nothing to do and it was still light,
But go to bed early, with the mozzies to fight.
Up the next day to greet a dawn so pale,
We couldn’t wait to get out of Scottsdale.

On the Road

kangaroo sign

I don’t register why I slow down,
When from the corner of my eye
A shape leaps toward the road.
A large roo hops out in front
From nowhere into the traffic.
Brakes screech, but it’s too late
As it meets the bullbar,
And disappears beneath the four wheel drive.

Then as if in slow motion
It struggles up with a feeble hop
To land for its last time in front of me.
Eyes signal its distress and
We shudder together before it slumps.
Traffic stops and people swarm
Someone has a bag, another has a sack,
Two men drag the carcass to the roadside,
Check for a Joey and tag for unknown disposal.

I sit not knowing what to do,

Then there is nothing else left

But to go on our way as before.

Not There Yet.

long-road-007 White lines hurtle past
Someone’s waste caught by the bush
Dead land dotted with tree skeletons
Not there yet.
Black lines on the pale sky
Birds sit like musical notes
To play to their own tune.
Not there yet.
Crosses and flowers show
Someone else’s grief
And sadness for what was,
Not there yet.

The Kiss


The first kiss, sweet and soft,
To taste each other and find our way.
Yielding lips and tongue,fuel our passion.
Pull apart to breathe you in,
Gaze upon your craggy face.
Touch the lines, with my finger,
Push aside the strand of hair.
Meet my lips, our ardour done.

The Photograph


Elated, joyous smile crossed his face,
Admires his new fiancé.
Wistful, I spy behind the lense.
There was no one to match her
Her eyes darted about to rest on him.
His mouth receives her kiss.
Click, click,
Her smile eases through red lips,
To whisper only to him.
Cut the cake, the speech is long.
Drum beats, dance as one
The night is gone and
So are they.

The Shed

P1170011Wade through piles of crackling brown leaves underfoot,
Dusty cracks of sunlight peek through warped tiles.
The broken window, frames a craggy brown trunk,
Green leaves drop its greetings.
Thin twine weaves waving arms alongside peeling paint.
Dried yellow stains drip down the once clean walls,
Signalling its furry owner’s home,
Smells of death and life and petrol fume.
A muffled movement above alerts an urgency
To touch a dusty old box, lift it high,
Hook the web of a black hairy, spider who scurries away.
The box returned to its spot on a soggy leafed floor where,
A road of ants escape toward the open door.
Remnants of a small animal lies in the corner,
Amongst the boxes, paint tins and tools standing to attention.
A truck gurgles a gearchange; children squeal nearby.
Desperately clutch the web from misbehaving frizzy curls,
Nostrils flare from the waft of a pungent smell.
Try to hasten forward, yet thwarted by the junk of things past.
But the shuffle above galvanises a resolve
To forget the dirt and dust encased on skin.
A bird flies in and settles in its nest on the ladder,
Her smugness complete and comfortable.
Eyes meet, its message unmistaken
To submit to a relief of defeat,
And the beckon of procrastination.

Happy Anniversary

We took our vows, I remember it well,
You wore blue and I could tell
Your love was pure your heart was mine,
Exchanged our rings it was our sign.
Do you remember what we said?
To each other, out loud we read.
To grow together as people do,
To respect and listen and be true
To one another all our life,
Then became husband and wife.
You look at me, with adoring eyes,
As if I’ve been your only prize.
We had the ups and some downs,
Yet all those years, never a frown.
You shower me with gifts of love,
We fit together, like a glove.
I love how you will never miss,
The time to take, the time to kiss.
You hold my heart in your hands
Your face tells it all, I understand.
Now I want you to forever know,
I’ve loved you always did it show?
Hardly ever have we been apart,
Since we vowed, right at the start.
All those years have gone its true,
Growing old in love with you!

Dear Friend

File photo of a customer looking at an iPhone 4 at the Apple Store 5th Avenue in New York

The phone signals its callers light,
It’s ring with a special sound bite.
Hello, hi or Yes, I might say,
In response to you, I sit and stay
To talk, to laugh, to be a friend,
For minutes or hours until the end.
I listen, share and cry with you,
For news that’s good and news that’s blue.

But now we talk much less and less,
And when we talk we just digress.
Our ways have parted with the time,
Slowly dying, such a crime.
We still have other means to see,
One another with the family.
Nonstop talk is at an end,
There’s not the time for us to spend.
Still, dear friend when you need me,
Just pick up the phone, dial and see.

A Hot Summer Day

The cat

The cicadas draw my attention with their screech,
And the morning vocal bird song is strangely silent.
The midday heat burns and dries my eyeballs,
Penetrating my head with a thumping beat.
I blinkingly glance at the cat splayed across the deck,
Lying in the shade of the table made from worn planks.
Asleep, yet her moving tail is twitchingly alert,
A sound escapes her lips and eyes open to opportunity.
Flies buzz and dance around a fresh carcass,
A shrivelled worm, its life cut short.
Ignore the cat’s insistent appeal,
To touch the sunburnt remains of the once pink delicate hydrangea,
Thirstily waiting for a cool spray, yet to come.
The gray concrete innocently invites my bare feet
To dance across it, and smoulder bare soles.
Brown dirt beckons through the faded parched blades,
That was, weeks ago, a lush oasis of cool green.
The leaves of trees silhouette a darkening sky,
Full of promise for somewhere else?
A blustering wind springs suddenly and
Roughly swaddles me with repugnant warmth.
The washing hangs in a stiff replica of what it was meant to be,
The cat’s urgent demands end with a tumble of biscuits.
A faint bouquet of flames afar signals,
A quick escape into the cool darkness to wait.

I Remember…….


I remember the time, when I was so young,
It’s a good solid cliché, it rolls off my tongue.
When big metal computers filled a room on a floor,
Windows arrived, it turned into a door.
Then came the internet yes it was true
It took away boring and changed what we do.

I remember when the world was only my town,
Where there lived the Jones, Smiths, and the Browns.
Now it’s full of people I hold up in awe,
Opening me to things I didn’t know before.
To food that wasn’t sausage, carrot and mash,
The world has opened with a tag and a hash.

I remember playing on slides, swings and bars,
To school walk alone, it wasn’t bizarre,
Of learning times tables out loud by rote,
Sitting up straight, learning of places remote.
I travelled the world with a budget so tight
With no mobile or internet I just had to write.

Watching television with three channels, black and white
Saw the moon landing cross-legged,oh what a sight.
Went to the thunder box with paper on a hook,
Had pots on wood stoves upon which to cook.
I can heat up leftovers from last night so fast
Now with the microwave they said, wouldn’t last.

Listened to music and watched the vinyl turn,
Now storing it in cloud, what is there to yearn?
The clip clop of horses and the milkman in sight,
Now go off to Woolies to find parking, it’s tight.
With the push of a button check the calories I eat,
Feel the bulge of my tummy, better get to my feet.

I trudge on the treadmill watching a show so inane,
Do some rowing, some cycling, until, there’s some pain.
Then out for a latte and a donut or two,
And a chat with my mates, so would you too.
Intently trying to listen, resisting a look.
To check my phone for happenings on my app the facebook.

So here I am old, wrinkly, aching and wise
My figure has gone and I’m double the size.
The children are out and all very grown,
They’ve left me and the nest and now I’m alone.
I like to remember on occasion, it’s true,
But that was the past so it’s now over to you .

The Box

The Box

She strained up to the cupboard to reach to the top,
Standing on tippy toes , careful don’t drop.
Unable to reach she cursed and she saw
A chair for her to climb, high up from the floor.

Smiling with delight she grabbed what she found.
It was big, heavy and square and certainly not round.
She lifted it carefully from its specially prepared space,
Where it lay long ago , in its very secret place.

She judged the distance and with a grunt she did lift,
Down to the ground to a chair she could sit.
Like a baby she cradled it tenderly in her lap,
Looking at it closely and examining the brass flap.

It was wooden and large with carvings galore,
On its face, its sides and even its door.
There were butterflies and bridges with tiny little men,
She hadn’t remembered being there, way back then.

She knew she shouldn’t open it, not here and not now,
For the memories would flood in and furrow her brow.
But she couldn’t resist the temptation to see,
The things she’d put there, when she was free.

She opened the door, peeked and then gasped,
What am I doing? She suddenly asked.
Memories flooded back and tears sprang to her eyes,
She sat blinking furiously wondering why.

She took a deep breath picked the bundle on top,
It was wrapped with pink satin ribbon that she got from the shop.
They were well wishes and sympathies from a long time ago,
Of the loved one she treasured, who helped her to grow.

She didn’t undo the bow to look inside,
She knew what it was, it was nothing to hide.
Next was the plastic bag with the pony tail so clear,
When her hair was cut, she remembered that year.

Then was an envelope upon which her name,
Was written in ink and the card was the same.
Out fell a familiar photo and so read the back,
It was at a waterfall she recalled, as well as the track.

It made her remember the heat of the day,
As they walked and they trekked sometime in May.
There were sandwiches and cake they took along to eat,
Beside that waterfall, they’d sat on a seat.

To talk and to laugh at each other in fun,
Until it was time to go and then it was done.
She put the photo back with tenderness anew
For then she saw the package in brown paper too.

It was lying at the bottom tied with raffia so pink,
And she tugged at the bow and unwrapped, not a blink.
She picked it up; it was worn, pink and blue,
“Tinka”, she whispered, as if it was brand new.

She’d love it so much all those years that had passed,
And put it to her face and hoped it would last.
To her delight, the smell was still there,
Giving her comfort and then she just stared.

For her reverie was broken with a screech and a cry,
“Mummy, mummy, where are you?” She sighed.
Her daughter pushed the door open, with a loud bang,
“There you are my mummy,” she smiled and she sang.

With a flurry she danced in her long fairy dress,
Until she saw Tinka, to snatch and caress.
She looked down at her daughter and smiled so sweet,
Until she saw in her hand that she had Tinka’s feet.

She gasped in dismay, her daughter on the floor sat,
Oblivious of what had been done, she knew none of that.
Tinka was held to her face as her mother had done,
Before she flung her away, out the door she did run.

The mother gazed at the feet lying small and inert,
Her daughter didn’t know that she was feeling so hurt.
A tear found its way out and rolled down her cheek,
As she remembered escaping, times that had been bleak.

She picked Tinka up and shook off the dust,
Got out her sewing kit to repair. For she must,
Pack her away, from those tiny hands into her place,
In the box, in the cupboard, and it’s special secret space.

The End