I Open My Door

I open my door

to the wet world

morning after rain

the temperature now

cooling to autumn

even the near hills

are hidden by cloud

and the trees

in the still air

drip gently 

From the Clouds

From the clouds piled above the mountains

tendrils of light reach down into crevices,

long white fingers probing.

Looking at those hills

Looking at those hills

I know an old home of mine

is still there beyond them.

This Kaleidoscope

This kaleidoscope that Janet gave me
twenty years ago
has never left my desk —
whatever desk, in whatever house.

Tiny gold tube
in slim black drawstring bag
of hard-wearing felt
(more like charcoal grey by now)

it’s a miniature kaleidoscope,
designed for reminding me
of childhood dreams
with grown-up elegance.

I hold it to the light
and turn the end.
The coloured lumps of glass
tumble, forming flowers and stars.

Mouths

They are attracted,
you can see in their mouths
which look at each other like hungry eyes,
talk to each other like making kisses.

A Dry Day

A dry day (mostly)
though heavy with cloud.
Town is grey,
empty. Even the air
feels exhausted.

There’s a piquant smell
not quite sour
not quite sweet —
some kind of plant
reacting with all that water?

The fallen frangipanni flowers

The fallen frangipanni flowers
white with yellow-gold centres
are like five-pointed stars
only softer, rounder. Their texture
looks somewhat like cream,
somewhat like very fine velvet.
Up the trumpet-shaped back
of the bloom, where it wants a stem,
are fine pink lines and green
fanning to the ends of the petals.

Sheltering

Hunched, wet-feathered
on the veranda railings,
two Noisy Miners
don’t even squawk
when I open the door,
don’t even bother to move.
The street is awash, the sky
obliterated. This once
I don’t chase them away.

Suburban Vignette

Steady, heavy rain all morning.
Driving home up the hill, I see
that old dog, Coco, hunched
wet and shivering, poohing
in someone else’s gutter
across the road from his house.