cloudy morning ...

cloudy morning –

lavender flowers bob

in sudden breeze

Three Days Away

The vines have extended

new tendrils questing to spread.

I go and loop them back

through the old pathways

of curlicues covering the fence.

The rainclouds – active (I’m told)

in my absence – turn sluggish,

moving away very slowly.

There seem to be many more
flies and mosquitoes. The cat
retreats back indoors.

Garden Moments

Spring breeze –

a dead leaf dangles

from a web

******

mosquito –

I reach, close my hand
on empty

Spring Things

black-and-white

visiting butterfly

quickly gone

******

fine morning

tiny birds flutter

in new leaves

******

yawning early –

last night late with sexy

new novel

Selene Grooms Herself

She washes her white patch of stomach,

then interrupts herself

to listen to a distant bird;

moves around and licks her long tail

and curving flank – bracing herself,

one paw held firm to the ground.

The other, stretched in the air,

balances her as she twists.

Such a serviceable body!

For no particular reason that I can see,

she raises the end of her tail

straight up at a right angle.

(In the photo, she looks up from washing her stomach. After that I was writing, not snapping.)

#awakeaugust day 31

My Frangipani Has No Leaves

...the #awakeaugust small stone for day 30, is over here at my other poetry blog ('The Passionate Crone') – because it is also doing duty as a quadrille written for dVerse.

Lunch

She gives me vegetable soup 

in a plastic box with two blue clips.

‘I’ve made it thick,’ she says.

‘You can add more water.

I just throw everything in

and hope it tastes OK.’

It’s still hot when I get back home.

It fills my big white bowl.

I don't dilute it, I eat it thick –

savouring the tastes

of carrot and spinach

and the texture of the potato.

#awakeaugust day 29

Also linking to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #317

Hunch-Cat

She crouches against

the morning's faint chill,

making herself contained

yet huge to look at, all one lump

with two points of ears;

no stretching limbs.

no undulating torso.

#awakeaugust day 28

Race Memory?

She jumps up on the ledge

behind the ferns, for a spot

of slinking through the jungle –

the only place for that delight 

in this rather bare little yard.

#awakeaugust day 27

Foreshore Trees

The scrubby, twisted foreshore trees,
gnomish and squat, 

look like remnants of ancient forest –
perhaps they are.

#awakeaugust day 26

Simple Pleasures

My cat has carried 

her favourite toy 

out to the back yard. 

She lies on her blanket 

on the bouncer, and tosses it 

between her front and back paws, 

wriggling and curling and rolling over.

Then she settles a while

to listen to the neighbours’ noises.

Some hammering down the street.

Birds shrilling in next door’s trees.

An electric bike on a near road.

The sun shines after yesterday’s rain.

The pink flowers whose name I forget

are now full and lush. New buds begin.

#awakeaugust day 25

Wet

It’s been raining all night.

This morning it’s still raining,

coming down steady

in straight lines like a curtain. 

Gutters and pipes drip.

Sounds of big drops hitting the ground 

and pooling. Background sound 

of constant falling: a sustained sigh.

#awakeaugust day 24

Linked to the current Tuesday Platform at 'imaginary garden with real toads'

Cold Rain Coming

Overcast sky.

Some of the branches against it

are bare and spiky.

I see how, on others,

the tree leaves are entwined

by pale green vines

which will kill them slowly.
Small black mosquitos arrive.

#awakeaugust day 23

Crossroads

I witness an old friend’s true evil –

in crisis, the mask briefly let slip.

Someone once told me, 

‘He has no heart’.

Mine now feels crushed in my chest.

The well-pruned rose stems

nod in the breeze. The sun shines

on the succulents in the far corner.

The trees are unchanged.

I breathe deep.

But everything has changed.

#awakeaugust day 22

Spring is Coming!

Suddenly, on the trumpet creeper that covers two fences, there are only two clumps left of the orange blooms that brighten every winter. But in my pot on the ground over there, all the pink buds are bursting into full flower. My cat settles herself in the corner that gets the morning sun. When she comes in later, her fur is warm to the touch.

#awakeaugust day 21

(This one insists on being prose. A prose-poem, I like to think.)

In My Quiet Garden

In my quiet garden 

nothing stirs, except the ferns 

idly batting the breeze. Then, 

over the fence an unknown bird

gives high bursts of sweet, 

piercing, repetitive calls. 

I welcome the sound. My cat 
jumps up at once and runs indoors.

#awakeaugust day 20

The Ferns Droop (senryu)

The ferns droop.
My friend begs for help
I can't give.

#awakeaugust day 19

In Still Air (haiku)

In still air
the drone of a plane.
A fresh breeze.

#awakeaugust day 18

One Sign How Close

You pick up the phone
and hear, 'It's me'
and you don't have to ask.

#awakeaugust day 17

Small Cat

compacting yourself

against morning cold

gazing at the window behind us

its garden reflections

yesterday was early Spring this reversal jars

yet you choose to keep me company

let us go inside leaving the garden 

to dream a while longer of warmth to come

#awakeaugust day 16

Also written for dVerse Quadrille #14: jar

(A quadrille is exactly 44 words, excluding title. I also wanted to experiment with unpunctuated couplets.)

My Garden in Late Winter

Already the tubular blooms

on the orange trumpet vines

are wilting, are less profuse.

The flowers of winter

that brighten my cold garden

begin to give way to what will come –

the starry pale pinks

that will dot the other, intertwined vine

when spring has fully arrived.

Though this is still officially winter,

here in the sub-tropics, always

it overlaps with spring.

Some flowers are deceived and start early, 

like those deeper pinks in the pot over there,

which Amanda gave me, budding already.

#awakeaugust day 15

Suddenly the Jade Bush

Suddenly the jade bush

has bright, fleshy leaves.

Only the other day

it looked bedraggled.

I think of finding it a new pot.

The once-pretty green one it’s in

has several large gouges

around the rim –

where Andrew sat on it 

(better than landing on concrete!)
four years ago,

in one of his last falls.

#awakeaugust day 14

Hints of Spring

I hang the washing

on the clothesline,

not indoors. My cat

comes out to see.

I think about repotting

the plants on the front step.

A couple of kookaburras

comment raucously.

#awakeaugust day 13

Her Eyes Accuse

I’ve been out all day,

so she’s been in.

I arrive back home

in early evening cold.

She doesn't want food first.

She runs to the back door.

I let her into her courtyard garden.

She wants me to come too,

but I’m busy unloading shopping.

She sits, statuesque,

on top of her mini-trampoline

(yes of course it’s hers)

until dusk has fallen.

#awakeaugust day 12

The Last Month of Winter

The days alternate

between sun and rain.

Tiny ants, finer than thread

mass in my kitchen;

when I block one entry point

they find another.

The email from that friend

finally comes, and after all
her daughter has not died.

#awakeaugust day 11

My Blue Horizon

I stand on my top step

morning after morning

rejoicing in the sky opposite,

and the undulant line of the mountain –

their many different moods of blue,

on different days, in many weathers.

Today both mountain and sky

are clear and full of light.

#awakeaugust day 10

Also written for Poetics: Breathing in Blue at dVerse

Buddha Comes to Live with Me

On a folding screen

for my Reiki space,

his serene face gazes 

at me, and into distance.

Or perhaps he contemplates

inner space. And I

contemplate him, his beauty.

Gazing back at that face,

I'm suddenly unhurried.

I breathe in compassion.
I breathe out peace.

#awakeaugust day 9

Passing Muster

My cautious cat

runs and hides

when men visit.

Someone has hurt her.

My god-daughter,

travelling interstate,

visits me today

with her new man.

The cat, though wary,

stays in the room –

eventually approaches,

almost allows a pat.

'He's a good man,'

my god-daughter says.

Holding hands, they smile 
into each other's eyes.

#awakeaugust day 8

Also linked to Flash 55 (without the 'Plus') at 'imaginary garden with real toads'

Filling the Space

A small space in the day, 

a small space in my town,

for a Cappuccino mug

and Spanakopita slice.

As soon as I sit down –

outdoor table, with a view

of big fluffy clouds like ice-creams

and gently wavering trees –

the bikers roar past, black and shining,

helmeted like Darth Vader.

#awakeaugust day 7

Also for the current Flash-55 Plus! at 'imaginary garden with real toads' – 55 words plus the idea of 'lacuna': a cavity or space. (I've interpreted that as time out, rather than the real meaning of something missing.)

I Give You This Moment

A quiet morning after rain.

The door open to the mild air.

Over the fence, the warbling

of a lone magpie, briefly, twice,

flute-like melody conjuring

his unseen form. Meanwhile

the orange trumpet creepers

suspend themselves down palings 

like bells, or clusters of fruit.

Note: Natalie Goldberg, author of wonderful books for writers, exhorts her readers: "Give me this moment!' meaning, sit down and write whatever's in front of you, whatever's going on right now. So of course I thought of her when I did so on this occasion, and that gave me my title.

#awakeaugust day 6/2

A Candle for Her Passing

I chose a new white taper, 

very slim, in a clear glass holder.

I set it near my pictures of Andrew

and the fairy mountain, the owl statue

and the stones from magical places.

I said the prayer for the dead, aloud,

as I lit the wick. For the rest of the day
it burned all the way down, until gone.

#awakeaugust day 6

Recurring Irony

A new flower in my garden – 

first of the season, 

as all that rain 

turns to fresh sunshine.

My friend who died two days ago

is still gone. Another loss 

for heavy August.

Why do they always leave 

just as Spring begins?

#awkeaugust day 5/2.

Street Scene

After days of heavy rain

this morning the sun returns.

A small boy rides his tricycle

around the end of the cul-de-sac,

watched by his young father.

He jumps it up over the gutter

like a bucking bronco. 

#awakeaugust day 5.

Viewing

I watch on DVD

Shakespeare's Henry V

('a very masculine play,'

notes the star, afterwards)

and comparing in my mind

to the nightly news on TV,

I wonder at men, who like to fight

testosterone-fuelled wars

for which they always find 

great-sounding, righteous reasons.

#awakeaugust day 4/2.

A Quiet Night In

With the aftermath of rain

dribbling outside, down gutters

and off the edges of leaves,

inside is hushed 

in golden lamplight.

My cat's neat black paw 

stretches across the top blanket, 

holding our safety in place.

#awakeaugust day 4

The Passage of Time

She used to be the cleverest,

when we were students together.

Meeting her now in age, I weep

to see her lost, vacant gaze.

#Awake August day 3 

Nightly Ritual

At bedtime her black fur

against the room's darkness

gives her a sinister shape

as she sits awhile upright, 

ears cocked, Guardian Cat,

before deciding it's safe

for both of us to sleep,

and curling close.

Written for #Awake August

Nearly

After six and a half months with me,

my shy and wary cat almost licks my finger. 

I scratch gently behind her ear. This time 

she turns her head, sniffs my knuckle, 

pokes out the tip of her tiny tongue ...

then pauses, draws back, and pretends sleep.

Written for #Awake August 2016 

Circle Dancers

they dance and sway
in colourful dresses –
flowers in the breeze

Three haiku

I stop sneezing

the same day the sun returns –

has winter gone?

******

my black cat 

called Moon Goddess

lies in bright sun

******

bare trees

after the windstorm

empty sky


Linked to The Tuesday Platform at 'imaginary garden with real toads'

Winter Sun haiku /senryu

winter sun

my cat stretches

one long paw

      ***

winter sun

frangipani leaves

through the blind

      ***

winter sun

thinking of a walk

I fall asleep

Wet weather haiku

rainy weekend

my cat curls all day

on the couch

streets awash –

between downpours

faint bird-song

Written for Project 366, where I am a guest this month.

This Photo

This photo shows, only to me, 

my wind chimes' mellow notes; 

kids whistling, calling each other; 

the flurry of a sudden bird;

the damp smell of the rain.

Annoyance

Wet day,
the rain persistent.
I pull out my small black folding
brolly – but
the switch to open and shut it
detaches, drops, vanishes.
Wet day.

Welcome

'Welcome, black cat',
says my house.

Domestic Vignette

Rain falls soft and steady.

I open my door to the cool.

My small black cat

moves further inside the house
to sprawl on the bare coffee table.

A still night ...

a still night
circle dancers spin
bright colours

Across the Café

They talk, study the menu, smile.
Whenever he looks at her,
his eyes soften.

Last Night

I dined with friends last night.

A small pregnant wallaby came too.

Happiness generator:

lying under a ceiling fan

in my friend's peaceful home
reading poetry.