Saturday, December 14, 2013

Summer Lovin'

You know.... 
                     I give so much of myself
                                                             that quiet evenings at home
                                                                                                            are a bliss

Because Here,
I view my Summer flowers
                                          tended all the cold months

When I Went Away....
                                    I walked,
                                                   and saw many old friends...

Of many forms


And Species


And funghi

And spent some time, barefoot in Victoria Park
With words and grass for company

In the way of the best of times.

And then Home again. 
                                       Where all need a piece, 
                                                                              and weekend evenings provide Peace

Thank Goodness for the Season, 
                                                      its festivities providing a moment of still

For those of us who do not participate, 
Until that day. 

And the Album Of The Week...



Sunday, December 1, 2013

Raggedy Ann


Some times I feel like Raggedy Ann. 

That my stuffing is falling out from a tear in my scalp, 
And my thoughts are incoherant. 
                And difficult to grasp
                                             Made of gossamer, on the wind.....

They float, reach for the sun and breeze, tiny seeds. 
                               And I love and bless each and all of them,
                                                              Though I don't recall them specifically

Into the ether they flow, in whatever their incarnation, 
To be racapured
                           .... At a later date, by myself or another.

As children, daughters, we would collect the seeds from the blue larkspur. 
                                          As an adult, I long for the time when the spikes were taller than me
And move on to lupins,  for the challenge, 
                        And another memory
                                     of favourite children's book, 
                                                       Miss Rumphius, and seed spread readily.

As the irises, flag and Dutch, leave behind their ghosts
I smile, 
And adore their tissue paper forms.
Dying things have their own special beauty


And the Alliums flower, heralding harvest, 
Impressing me with their stages, 
And I make pesto from their stalks,
Nothing wasted. 

The LilyPily  flowers burst, and my hay-fever erupts, 
But I can't escape their beauty, 
Their optic fiber tutus, 
Their new pink leaves.

And we, many hands, built a dragon
To breathe smoke through nostrils, 
Warm us in Winter, 
And bake out pizza and other garden goods. 
She will be mosaic covered when complete. 

But the colours, textures and vivacity of the simple are never far from mind.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Small Blessings

Clean sheets, clean hair, bottle of wine, coca tea, cigarettes.
Finished meetings, new societal roles.
Creations planned and in the planning.
Grant proposals to write,
Assessments to complete.
Glittered, feathered hair,
Red, red, red, red, red.

Been away, going away.
Bluegrass calls, and I am answering
The strings of the banjo, soon.

Real content in process.
In the meantime,
Really content.

Bury Me, Marry Me To The Sky

Never knew love like this, 
The wind, moon, the earth, the sky....
Sky so high
Never knew pain like this
Everything die, then die
Never knew love like this
The sun, the sea and I....

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Sing You To That Place: Secret Women's Business

This girl grows, every day. My body is purged, after adventuring and illness and adventuring through illness. That I find companionship, love and trust with women older than my mother and younger than my cousins, I am grateful. That my life experiences and intelligence allow me to converse with anyone, and draw from them their stories.

Sometimes I cry when at art galleries, feel others' pain when looking at their street art, understand souls completely when watching them speak. I love to hear the laughter of women. The way they laugh when without the men-folk, when a week together provides that temporary bond that is women's business, then return to busy lives.

I will walk my life, observing the stratigraphic changes in roadside cutaways, thanking the plants for the beauty food and materials they provide me, collecting seeds, beach combing, making daisy chains, ever grateful for the occasional company of the souls who enter my world. I must learn to live as an artist, for I am, and I must not allow my emotions to get in the way of that life. I must learn that for every yes, there is a no. I must grow, still more, every day.

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Cotton Lace, Building and Uprooting

The last of the blossoms are clinging among tiny leaves on the trees.
When I was small, I thought they were just for me. 
In my life, I have sometimes not been able to see the small beauty
Of the seasons, of the life that surrounds me.
Not notice the helping hands when they are offered. 
I am grateful that I now keenly see these blessings
In all seasons, 
That my eyes alight
                                On a drop of water, 
                                                               a pod, 
                                                                          a seed,
                                                                                       ...a new leaf

The sheen of a most marvelous Wyendotte rooster.

Tomorrow I up sticks
           Watch my sister graduate...
                                        so proud!
Then celebrate a birth soon to come, and then still, another birthday
With paints and brushes, needles and threads, scissors and silk, I will go. 
To Melbourne
To make with others for a week. 
A present to myself. 
In dye and stitch, stencil and stain.

I trade the little smoke for the big, 
                                                     In order to play for a fortnight, 
And relieved myself of all cooking and washing up!
                                                                                In exchange for dirty fingers and happy thoughts.

But how the garden grows this time of year, 
                                                                   Borscht in the making,
                                                                                                      Pickles in process
I look forward to the growth I will see when I return.

And this, beautiful bird, found on a walk.
Sadly, with its tail cut, 
                                  Unhappy baby maggie. 
I have sent it to be well taken care of, 
After feeding some worms and a night in a box. 
I shall miss him, 
Even though this encounter was short.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Oh, September Winds

 I will be like the lichen
                                      And cling to the rock, 
no matter the season.
                                   Achieve my symbiosis with the pathogens,
                                                                                                     Change my colours, 
                                                                                                                                    Bear the season, 
                                                                                                                                                                Grow my lace....

As the soil heats and the bulbs burst forth, flag irises, spider lilies, bluebells, hyacinth, lily of the valley....
                                                                          and some of my own division, 
                                     With striped and beaded cap, 
                                                                                    and thick skin;
                           endemic, weeping,evergreen,
                                                                          with tiny pom-pom adornments,
                                                                                                                            silver-green, lime and lemon;
                                        with double cream skirt
                                                                             and pointed spring-green blossom caps for shoes....

And all of us together, Fae, Indigenous and introduced, stir at these hot September winds. 
We put forth flower and fruit, 
                                              growth and a show of strength
                                                                                               build homes for the Rosellas and King Parrots, the Choughs and the Maggies.
We break the hot winds and searing sun, that those Winter vegetables
                                                                                                             Might pass a few more weeks of cool mornings before setting seed
And meeting cooking pot, and seed store, and dye-lot, and compost.

And the Japanese greens show a stunning purple in the sun, before bolting to yellow flowers.

The soil heats, 
                        and asparagus ignored for two seasons grows
                                                                                               eight inches in the night.... 

And is snapped off in early morning, and eaten raw from where their stems break the earth. 
                                                                                                                                             Glorious water brings a crop for tomorrow.

In Orchard News, 
                             Bees and blossoms abound
                                                                        and September winds 
                                                                                                            cause a light snow of petals - from whitest white to hottest pink


And while driving, I think of all the places I will go these next few months.
                                                                                                                    Wishing for slow road trips,
                                                                                                                                                               full of swags and cigarettes.

And the ends of the sunsets appear as watercolour and ink
                                                                                            and make me smile. 
Because at this time of year, I never know how the wind blows, or what new growth I will notice in one day, or why it smells of rain when the sky is clear. I appreciate the smell of water as it hits the micorrhizal fungi under lawns. The slight burn of the sun on my shoulders after a morning's weeding, the wildflowers collected on the short walk to a friend's house.

As this girl's life seems to get only busier and more complicated, this season provides opportunities for reflection at every turn. 

A return to the outside table, to rose tea in the sun, gingham table cloths and daisies and a will to own a hammock. 

Pina Coladas for breakfast, and Selah Sue on the stereo. Bring the heat.

Monday, August 19, 2013

Homesick from three blocks away

Spending much time away from my home of late. 
Each Time I Return
                                New Surprises await

My phone has gone away

To its mother-ship to be fixed
... but my old faithful seems to hold out, 
through spontaneous turning offs and ons.
                                                                  ....It could be worse!


My purple Sweet Peas
and I eat them
as fast as they can do so. 
Their pretty little heads make me smile as I tangle
and tether them to their trellis


And bright Nasturtiums add colour 
to gardens and garden salads
and remind me always
of the town mouse
and the country mouse
and his umbrella...
of  a nasturtium leaf 

One of my stolen succulents
is having pups, 
                        smaller than my fingernails, 
                                                                    they are growing fast, 
from nowhere
                      and little care...
                                                ... tiny roses from sand.

This is my song for the week. 
                 ' No question, blood stains the wattle'

Monday, July 22, 2013

Exactly What Season Is It?

The daffodils and jonquils are in full display
Informing me that Spring Is Coming
In the middle of July

Yet so are the pansies
Coveted for beauty
                                ...and dye,
Their smiling faces 
Always brought colour to Winter gardens....
It is a strange year indeed.

September's Cootamundra wattle,
Flowers in my big blue sky, 
Nothing here but me and the birds.

Be led down the garden path with me
Past that ironbark, what will we see?

Toes in the sun, moss on the rocks,
Green after rain. 
Happiness in granite boulders...
and humus

Catching a sunbeam on a melaleuca
Torn fibres and layers
Trees are such wonders,
if we never lose our child's eyes.

A moss map, 
Catchment in the rock, 
like casurinas lining the creeks
between the ploughed land

And this fellow, 
is becoming rock himself. 
Should be so lucky. 
To study stones, 
and be so still.