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

Monday, August 31, 2020

After we've gone ...

After we’ve gone  
(I like to think)
Earth will at last
rest ...
and recover.

For Weekly Scribblings #35: Rest at Poets and Storytellers United.

Monday, August 17, 2020


This may be 
technically winter
but in my neglected
weed-filled garden
suddenly irises bloom.

Friday, July 31, 2020

old lady ...


old lady —
instead of romance


old lady —
instead of lovers
hot novels

(I'm not being ageist. I'm the old lady concerned, and quite happy, albeit wryly amused, with my substitutions.)

Monday, July 27, 2020

Instead of the monumental ...

Instead of the monumental, she opts to make small, exquisite things.

I stay in bed all day ...

I stay in bed all day,
refusing the day —
this rainy day, when finally
I know my old friend
has said goodbye.

Wednesday, July 22, 2020

grey day outside ...

grey day outside —
here in my cave all day
I’m bingeing on blues  
instruments groan and wail
... and I’m in sheer delight

Sunday, July 19, 2020

night noises ...

night noises
don't scare – I'm reading
of strong women

Wednesday, July 15, 2020

Monday, July 13, 2020

my winter tea ...

my winter tea
cinnamon and orange —
the sun comes out  

Saturday, July 11, 2020

All night the rain ...

All night the rain 
mutters and grumbles
like an old quarrel, on and on 
without resolution, finally 
subsiding with a dribble.

those muffled sounds ...

those muffled sounds — 
a small black cat’s 
persistent ghost

Thursday, July 9, 2020

lingering ...

even in silence —
the sound of
that unanswered phone’s

winter sun ...

winter sun —
noon is bright gold

Tuesday, July 7, 2020

Shut inside ...

Shut inside I almost miss startling red blooms, new on my bottlebrush.

Monday, July 6, 2020

Léon Pereira, Apothecary

I don’t know much more than his name and profession, my great-grandfather.

Sunday, July 5, 2020

on this rose quartz heart ...

on this rose quartz heart
intersecting lines of light
form kisses both sides

Saturday, July 4, 2020

Dark times ...

Dark times. So hard
to find anything
that I can love.

First focus on the small:
leaves, flowers, young birds...

Friday, July 3, 2020


this fairy
enchanted us —
his only book
made in old age


now his daughter
makes a facebook page 
about her dad
that sweet, gifted man —
missing him (me too)

Note: If anyone's wondering, this paperback edition is long out of print. but the ebook remains available from Smashwords.

Thursday, July 2, 2020

Tuesday, June 23, 2020

Friday, June 5, 2020

Hello Earth #5

... became much too long to be a small stone so I have posted it, as a piece of short prose, here at my main writing blog, Enheduanna's Daughter. All future earthellos will appear there too.

Thursday, June 4, 2020

Hello Earth #4

Hello Earth,

Here I am, listening to the rustling of the breeze outside, and seeing through the window the sun striking the uppermost leaves of the trumpet vine along my back fence.
Earth, this portion of you I inhabit is blessed with greenery, vast clear skies, blue mountains, a flat, lazy river.
Leaning in, I notice my neighbour's gardenias still blooming as we head into winter; I see that the young magpies have become adult; I welcome the ibis leisurely stalking my street.
Listing my gratitudes is easy here; I simply look around, listen, embrace you, Earth.
Offering up thanks for being here is something I do often, daily, at least once a day.

Wednesday, June 3, 2020

Hello Earth #3

Here I am, contemplating the clarity of winter sunshine.
Earth, you continue to surprise me, even with the same old.
Leaning in, I want you to hold me like a mother.
Listing gratitudes, some are selfish (I don't have dark skin).
Offering white guilt is not useful. What of awareness, prayer, solidarity, lifted voice?

A bit of a segue? I don't think anything is a segue at the moment. All thoughts lead, naturally and inevitably, back to George Floyd and the protests. There is simply nowhere else they could possibly go.

Hello Earth #2

Here I am, sleepy, putting off going to bed.
Earth, you are quiet tonight. The dark is deep.
Leaning in, I start to hear the deeper silence.
Listing gratitude — the speed of sound, the roof over my head, a comfortable place to sit.
Offering my eyelids closing, caring for myself by going to bed now.

Monday, June 1, 2020

Hello Earth #1

‘Hello Earth’ is a new initiative (and e-course) from Satya Robyn: to write a daily letter to the earth according to the opening words/phrases outlined here.

Here I am, in the spare room, keeping a safe distance out of the cleaner’s way. Neither I nor she wishes to catch the Virus.
Earth, you have been regenerating, I’m told, from the excess of people, now that most of us are staying indoors. 
Leaning in, I remember the love you have always given me. I always felt it, and feel it even now. The walls are not so thick as to shut it out.
Listing gratitudes, I recall lying on grass in my childhood, gazing at sky — ground that supported me, sky that seemed to look back at me kindly.
Offering myself the joy of these memories, I offer on your behalf my prayers: for people who will treat you as kindly as you treated me then, who will support you.

Satya Robyn was the creator of 'small stones' mindful writing.

Saturday, May 30, 2020

Winter is Coming: tanka

white trunk
of the eucalypt
against blue sky
while the air cools 

black and white
shapes flit in and out
of the trees —
busy magpies
six months old

on the breeze
that edge of cold
an aftertaste —
or a presage of
the inevitable

vines mingle —
pale pink flowers
of spring 
tricked by autumn, beside
wintry orange  blooms

Sunday, March 29, 2020

Making things easier for readers

At least I hope so. By joining Bloglovin' and adding this as well as some of my other blogs. Follow my blog with Bloglovin

Tuesday, February 11, 2020

Variations on a theme


days of rain
baby water dragon*
likes my yard

*Eastern Water Dragon, Australian lizard.


in my yard
the intruder stands
with bold gaze
claiming ownership –
this tiny lizard


I look out through the glass door.

A baby water dragon stands proud
in the rain-soaked yard, gazing back.

I turn, grab my camera. In that moment
it disappears, I’m focused on an empty spot.
I still see the vivid defiance, the ownership.

'We must stay positive!' many exhorted, as fires destroyed much of my country. I found such advice intensely annoying. What, play for the sinking of the Titanic? And anyway, I felt I was only capable of dark, despairing poems. Then one wise friend advised me to find small things to still love about the world and write of them, so as not to pass even more despair to others. I couldn't at first; then, finally, turning to micropoetry seemed to offer a way.

(I've decided I like the cherita best on this occasion, and am making resolutions to use it more often.)

I'm sharing this at Weekly Scribblings #6 at Poets and Storytellers United: Turn Cliché Into Poetry or Prose.

Friday, January 3, 2020

Fires everywhere ..

Fires everywhere
horizons blanked out by smoke.
Never thought I
hater of cold as I am
would suddenly long for snow.