“I always think that the best way to know God is to love many things.” ~ Vincent van Gogh

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Another handful of stones

We are still not online. A faulty modem is being replaced but freight has to go through Brisbane, which recently suffered horrendous floods, so naturally enough everything has been held up.  Meanwhile am using a friend's access, and here are the latest small stones:


The sea is blue today, 
sunny azure,
when I come to the top of the hill
and look down at the long line of it
undulating slightly
following the curves of the sand,
that thin strip of tawny gold
edging the dark green, tree-crowded shore.


Power Display

The St Andrews spider
stretched across her web
shows me her striped belly,
green and black and gold.

From the ends of her front legs
start two white zig-zags,
lightning streaks, that merge into
the fine, straight roads of her web.



I swam today
in Debbie’s pool
and not alone:
accompanied by a brown frog
the length of my middle finger.

He swam like I do,
lazily —
sometimes flexing his legs
in leisurely kicks,
mostly just floating.



Yesterday, my friend
spoke of encountering angels.

Such vivid detail,
it seemed I was there with her
seeing and understanding
what she saw and understood.

Still, a day later,
I’m fizzy with joy.


The Marmalade Kitten

The marmalade kitten is so young
that her eyes are still pale blue.
Red-haired seven-year-old Hayley
cradles and displays her.
‘She matches your hair,’ I say.
‘And my eyes,’ says Hayley.


We Walk

We walk slowly
along to the top of the hill.
He wants to take shots of the mountains.

The bright sun
fades them into the white sky.
All the same, after our jaunt he is singing.



She goes outside
to take the cool night air.
When I look for her later
on the empty landing
I think she must have gone
to roam the dark.
But when I call, she comes
up the steps at once
with a small miaow of greeting.


Sexual Preference

For the first time I wonder,
what have my loves in common?
(Apart from the pretty faces
I so often fall for ... even they
had to have more than that ...
the so many different kinds
of pretty faces....) At the age
 of seventy-one, finally
I figure it out. Ah yes —
I like adventurous men!



The little dog with the curly tail
almost forgets to bark,
half asleep in the heat —
rushes up belatedly with a growl.

‘Hey,’ I say, ‘It’s only me’
and the tail wags.
But as I go past,
another low growl sees me off.
He knows his duty.

The fence between us
keeps everything safe,
including both our faces.



I go down the front steps
to fetch the morning paper,
come back up, and each way
the one small pink flower
from my potted geranium bush
pokes through the rails like a smile.


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