elementals I: cockatoo

With a shriek
the sky splinters,
a dawn-white shard falls,
swoops,
sulphur crest rising
like a glimpse of sun.

requiem for a brittlegum

Sweat drips down my face,
my back,
between my breasts.
Sawdust collects in my boots,
soft and grainy
between my toes.

pobblebonk

I was digging in my garden on Sunday to plant some more bulbs (mostly oriental lilies) and turned up this:

leadership training

“This organisation wants authentic commitment”

fledgling

At my feet,
an eviscerated hen,
sans head,
intestines spilling out.

Circling above,
breaking the silence,
a fledgling wedgetail
calls to be fed.

This is why my hens are in protective custody. There is a breeding pair of wedgetail eagles nesting just over the ridge…    

Thanks to FV for the trigger to write this – turquoise eternity.    

Queanbeyan junior brass

After months of empty silence,
two dozen children, like ravenous birds,
fly into St Stephen’s kitchen

sunlight in a jar

With a pop
a ghost is released

conversion

“Now,  I’ve turned down your emotions,
to prevent future commotions.
And I’ve increased your ambition –
that should help with your condition.
Just one more gentle correction
to your systematic misperceptions…”

tank tapping

Banging on the tank,
working my way down,
knuckles rapping
against each ridge:

look up

You wouldn’t believe me if
I painted a sky this blue
But look up – there it is –
and every day it’s new.

 

With the last six months of drought, fires and then COVID, and now the current unrest in the US and the protests in Australia too, I find I’m turning more and more to my immediate surroundings for reassurance that the world is not ending.
Growing up in Melbourne, my prevailing childhood memory of the sky is drizzling grey. In the southern tablelands of NSW (away from the brown exhalations of Canberra) the sky seems to be almost always an astonishing clear deep blue – especially in winter. It surprises me and brings me joy every day.