He wears a heavy coat of rusty fur,
hunched and brooding in the coastal scrub.
They painted him a villain in the nursery tales,
a big, bad shadow waiting for the dark.
He has a hundred hollow eyes that never blink,
carved open by the jaws of summer fire.
A crooked spine, a fist of woody knots,
grumbling low curses to the southerly wind.
But who could blame his wicked, jagged grin?
He learned his roughness from the searing drought,
patrolling the ashes of a blackened world
while delicate soft gums slept in the canopy.
He is the grumpy elder of the heath,
bristling, thick-skinned, and unapologetic—
holding his seeds like stolen golden treasure
behind those silent, gaping wooden mouths.
Two weeks ago Santa was in 7th heaven
Ground covered with a foot of snow
Stage was set for a Christmas so white
Alabaster heavens lit up the night
Then warm, southerly breezes
Brought in gentle rains…
The good news is, folks
~ 50% fewer ankle sprains
"A kiss is a silence that says everything there is to say." Guy Maupassant.
**************************************************************
The Silent Kiss
In the dead stillness of the early morn
When day`s orb is still below the horizon
When the fading full moon faintly lights the sky
And the southerly breeze is smooth and shy
Pearly drops of dews in silence kiss the blooms
As the first soft and silent kiss of a bridegroom.
It is a quiet kiss with glows of grace
On velvet petals as on a silken face
To mark the coming of a bright new day
Make way to bear heat of the sun rays
As flowers dance with the subtle breeze
And dawn`s golden light spills through the tallest trees.
The sweetness of each kiss hangs as tiny stars
Sparkling with shines of light from a realm afar
The lotus, lily and lavender bloom anew
Beaming with the silent kiss of the morning dew
A symphony of sweet scent spreads apace
Nature`s mellifluous perfume in the space.
for Tanka-Haiku Poetry Contest-Sponsored by: Oliver Mckeithan
--------------
the southerly blows
chilling the depths of the soul
icicles, hang low.
daytime turns to night
sun hidden away inside
heavy clouds of grey.
hibernating till the days
of warmth, will rise again.
The factories long disappeared,
Silent structures still stay;
And more drugs than dreams have appeared,
In Kensington today.
The north of the Ave has its shine,
Less fine, southerly way;
Best Philly, and worst, intertwine,
In Kensington today.
Six miles, in a small corner curled,
“What matter?” you may say;
Well, the world is here, here’s the world,
In Kensington today.
Comes our God motherly, motherly, motherly,
Holding us tenderly when we're in pain.
Comes our God fatherly, fatherly, fatherly,
Strength'ning us daily to face life again.
Just what will tomorrow bring causes me worry
With so many tasks that I plan to complete,
And the thought of it makes me feel weary already.
I lay down my head and then struggle to sleep.
Holy Ghost hovering, hovering, hovering,
Spirit of wisdom to bring us God's peace.
Calming the chaos, relieving anxiety
Giving us courage so faith may increase.
With Jesus beside me as friend and companion
I rise from my sleeping to face a new day.
So whatever the challenges him I am trusting.
Through rough times and smooth I will hold to his Way.
God who's so genderful, genderful, genderful,
Spirit and Son now in union as One,
Shelt'ring us safely beneath her warm spreading wings,
Fending off evil till God's Kingdom comes.
To be sung to the tune of – Blow the Wind Southerly
Once a year
in the early spring
I scatter some reclaimed
seeds
from a section of yard
where the wild flowers grow --
a reserved place, there
left unattended
how they bloom, all on
their own
where the wild flowers
bloom,
a welcome to early bees
and butterflies
the old black cat seems to like
them as well
a nestled, deadly shadow, all comfy
in a lap of blazing, garnished nature
stroked by the southerly
tempering breeze
God! he has such allergies,
the poor little beast's, watery
eyes...
yet, every year
while I scatter
he seems to dream
faithfully
Lucifer, scourge of mice!
for a budding' moment, exculpated!
as a wand, my magician' hand
glides over the the future
materialized bed
seeding memories
long gone but not forgotten
when I was also omnipotent
demurely purring
one of the wild flowers
heedless of seasons
and the sentence of time --
But Not The Mountains
There is no sound from the mountains
Unlike that of the Magpie
The kereru or the Bell birds
Or the tractors rumbling across the paddocks
There is no sound from the mountains
Like the Nor Wester racing through the trees
The bleating of the sheep, the lowing of the cattle
the bark of the working dog
There is no sound from the mountains
As the Southerly snow whips them unmercifully
Save the sound from the waterfalls
as they race towards some unknown destination
There is no sound from the mountains
As the braided rivers wend their way to the sea
As the big jet planes fly hither and yon
There is no sound from the mountains
Save that of peace and tranquillity
Large boulders piled high
stretch out into the bay
and form a breakwater
that shields the beach
from high waves
and heavy swells rolling in
from southerly gales.
I have stood there
at the end when the sea
was hurling its rage
and all fury exploded
like bomb bursts of watery
shrapnel into the air.
I have seen such power
subside and tamed
to compliant licks
around the feet of rocks.
More than forty years ago
on a deep breath
I snorkeled down its ledges
into the rock strewn and weedy
world that lay at its base,
places where stingrays slept
and where fish glided
effortlessly along crevices
and over sponge
covered outcrops.
I cradled a fragile seahorse
in my trembling hands.
I no longer have
the confidence to rock hop
its length to the end
but stand where it butts
the land, commanding memory
to whip up a wind
and set wave upon wave
to awaken a soul
from its sleep
and make it feel
the sting of a southerly gale,
wet, cold and wonderful,
once again.
World War 3
When war again breaks out in Europe
and the culture that was, is a smokestack
that drifts in foul air
Not that art matters, if any survives, they
will be busy finding food and shelter
the winter will be long and hard, Britain
will be a hole in the sea, fir for fish,
I will seek sanctuary in Ushuaia, the most
southerly place in Argentine
It was there a world-famous violinist fled
when during a concert, lost his trousers
and Europe laughed.
a place where two great oceans collide
clearing the air and foul debris
I will visit the violinist to see if he still
plays, and if he has no radio tell him of
the tragedy, if he feels sorry for Europe
he is a good man, but if he gleefully laugh
his embarrassment has made him bitter.
morning’s cold whisper
a moment’s flurry
disappears
a southerly breeze
warms my heart
hopes of spring
Delight in the buds
popping out on the trees
Bathe in a southerly breeze
It's over eighty degrees
The calendar cautions
This is too early!
'Don't you dare enjoy this'
Its countenance surly ...
How long this weather may last
is not for me to say
I just know it's Chicago
half a month before May ...
O, perhaps it's all just a dream anyway ~
Checking the forecast, snow's due in two days
___________________________________________
Yesterday was 83 degrees, a record high temperature
for Chicago on April 13. Today it hit 78 degrees. To-
morrow (Saturday) it's supposed to be over 80 again...
And Sunday, possibility of snow late in the evening.
Summer's cool. Sea's conjuror!
The petrel's wing.
Wave, up-frothing.
Til dimly thickens, fearful
Who's pout's threat, shakes
Sky's, the spell breaks.
I/you
is/am/was
a soldier of
fortuitous (mis)fortune
a quiet
puddle
piddling in
southerly sloth
a gnarly ghost
galloping in
whirling ~ twirling ~ swirling
electronic sandstorms
!---)))>>>--->>>)))---!
adrift in tortured time
submerged in
the timeless slime of
gaslit dumpster fires
a hypersonic tsunami
of repetitive rage
revolting within & against
a cadaverous cage
light is muted
visions are mooted
delusions get uprooted?
an unfortunate creature soldiers on
!---)))hTySpUeNrAsMoInic>>>)!
Tui birdsong starts again, melodious warbling
bitter southerly wind still bites
sleet, horizontal and cold, flattens the daffodils
sudden rays of bright warm sunshine
race over paddocks
vivid green grass juxtaposes clear blue sky
Earth warms
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