White Sky

White sky this twilight
after rain, the day cooled
from its humid afternoon.
An exhausting day,
but now I know peace.
A plane drones over.
The Chardonnay
tastes light and tangy.

Last Light

In the last of the afternoon light

the sun appears, suddenly and quietly,

to light up the windless trees.

The palms in the neighbour's yard

form elegant fans. A cloud sails past

like a boat on blue water.

Then a plane goes over, noisy,

and the dusk settles down.

Me and My Gardener

Me and my gardener reminisce. 

We just found out we both grew up

in the same small town

on a cold, hilly, beautiful island.

Now we like the warmth.

'When I was in the Navy...' he adds

and I notice the dark tattoos

crawling from under his sleeve.

Young Single

My friend has cut his hair shorter,

smart. Suddenly he looks grown-up.

He says he shaved on Friday, and

already (Tuesday) must again.

He tells me all the things that prove

his new boyfriend loves him — really.

Although they aren't saying that yet. 

Silence after

Silence after 

days of downpour 

and shrieking wind —

as if the earth 

had stopped breathing.

Rain Storm

The water comes down in a roar,

speeded by the wind.

One of next-door's palm branches

crashes into my yard,

which is fast becoming mud;

others lash the fence.

In the northern hemisphere, I read,

this is the time of the Wolf Moon.

Here, the wind starts howling like a wolf.

Importunate

The wind and rain want to come in.

They ring my bells, they drive fists 

into my front door again and again.

I know it's not the cats demanding;

they are asleep in the house.

I do not open my door.

This Old Woman

(Describing myself from outside)

This old woman, slightly fat,

wears bright colours,

silver jewellery, crystals

and low-heeled shoes.

The pendants around her neck

are on cords she made

from shoelaces, knotted

to be adjustable.

The first one depicts

a five-pointed star

disguised inside

a five-petalled rose.

If people enquire,

to most she will say,

'Isn’t it beautiful?

It's a Celtic knot.'

Those to whom

she might say,

'It’s my pentacle; I'm Pagan,'

seldom need to ask.

Summer Country

Our mountain, Cloud Catcher

this morning has only one cloud 

held low in a long pocket 

half way.down the slope

where it stretches out

white and dazzling,

basking in the early sun,

prettier than pictures of snowfall.