Tag Archives: rurality

Sonnet agin my pig

For the dVerse prompt MTB: Palinode this is a retraction of my earlier Sonnet for my pig, which was one of my first blog posts. Since I wrote that she has eaten hundreds of dollars of bulbs, two chickens, three doormats…. She has also stolen clothes and sheets from the line to build a nest, and bitten me unexpectedly.

 

My piggy’s eyes are little and evil,
But it’s the use of her snout that does tell,
That she’s the most wickedest of devils,
That has ever risen to Earth from Hell.
She snuffles and wuffles through the garden,
Leaving holes where once were lovely flowers.
I see the mess and feel my heart harden,
But the foolish pig ignores my glowers.
And standing now below the washing line,
As I hang the clothes, my piggy has come,
All quietly sneaking up from behind
and that monster pig has bitten my bum!
Oh piggy, to love you, I really tried,
But you’ll be your best as bacon crisp-fried.

 

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The ghost kangaroo of Gundaroo II

I’ve written about the ghost kangaroo of Gundaroo before, that white beast that appears suddenly beside the road just after dusk.  But this time, as it’s in response to the dVerse prompt “Poetics: Exploring the Narrative Voice“, this is the story from the roo’s point of view… 

When the sun sinks behind the Brindabellas
and the darkness rises from the valleys,
I rise from my bed of leaf litter
and wait for the moon to light my path.
Then through the dry eucalypt forest
my footsteps pound like a heartbeat,
harder and faster as I cross the fields
to the Gundaroo road.

Ears twitching, I hear you coming,
the engine roar and rifle crack.
I see the headlights, spotlights
and the glint of moonlight on gunmetal.
I scent your sweat, your excitement
the beer on your breath
as you get closer to where I wait
by the Gundaroo road.

And as you close on me I leap from the trees,
white fur glowing in the headlights,
as I confront you and all your kind.
I see your pupils widen in shock,
your hands jerk on the wheel
as I stand here, unmoving,
beneath the trees, on the dust
of the Gundaroo road.

I stand still, pale in the moonlight,
as the wheels spin, sending up
a plume of dust between the trees
that wait, tall, sturdy, unmovable,
to receive you with a final crunch of metal,
as you futilely fight for control
already knowing you are spinning
off the Gundaroo road.

When the night is silent and dark again
I turn away, return across the fields,
feet pounding like a slow heartbeat
to the dry eucalypt forest
and to my leaf litter bed
leaving you in your crushed metal coffin,
just another unfortunate accident
on the Gundaroo road.

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flood moon; toad; morning commute, still

The Tuesday dVerse prompt this week was “flipping meanings“:

Flood moon

The round orb,
washed white by rain,
floats high in the stream.
It is a record
of what has been.
It asks a question
about what was lost.

Original:
Bushfire Moon (April 2020)

A thin crescent,
bloodied by smoke,
hangs low above the ridge.
This is not a portent
of things to come.
It is a statement,
of what is here. Continue reading

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a glass of sweet autumn gloaming

For the dVerse Monday prompt “In praise of the grape“, a quadrille using the word wine:

 

The autumn-sweet air is eucalypt clean,
light, yellow as late-harvest wine, gilds the trees,
insect hum deepens the stillness,
stirred by currawong’s mournful goodnight.

The trees blush rose,
then dissolve
into the darkness rising from valley
to meet an apricot sky,
ripening to indigo.

 

 

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what’ll we do?

What’ll we do
when the dam is dry
and the sheep stand by
and they look at me,
and they look at you?
What’ll we do? Continue reading

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hatsu hana, sakura and osozakura

For the dVerse Haibun Monday prompt: Cherry Blossoms

Every day I drive past a field on the edge of the village. A view of it opens suddenly between rows of tall trees, and I have to look quickly to catch a glimpse of it as I turn onto the bridge into the village. Today this field is darkened by the autumn rains to mud-brown, and even the sheep, knee-deep in mud, are mucky grey-brown.
But in my mind, it is emerald green with fresh spring growth, dotted with white sheep. It is sweet summer deep-gold with ripe grain and pale-gold with dry straw. It is drought-dry hard summer ochre, with willy-willies swirling columns of dust among the thirsty sheep. It is autumn grey. It is glittering white with winter frost. In a single glimpse it is all of these, all at once, each a vivid transparency overlaid on today’s precious glimpse.
I blink, and the field is behind me and I am slowing to enter the village, where the houses and a line of decorative street-trees begins, the last yellowed leaves falling from their bare branches…

I see blossoms foam,
leaf buds forming, un-furling,
on bare black branches.

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Goulburn poultry auction

Rain pelting the tin roof gives a soft-solid background
to hens muttering annoyance and cocks crowing their outrage.
All those birds, five hundred or more,
waiting to be judged, their worth determined,
to be found wanting or wanted. Continue reading

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calling the sun to the sky (pantoum)

I wanted to write a pantoum yesterday for the dVerse prompt “coming full circle“, but between work and kids I just didn’t have the head space for something that long or structured. But with a whole have-to-free day I’ve indulged myself this morning with a second coffee and some writing time. Here is this morning’s attempt, inspired by Laverton’s 0600 reveille: 

The old cock crows.
Stretching his neck up
to start the new day,
he calls the sun to the sky. Continue reading

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cockatoo tree

The cockatoo-tree blooms
at the first touch of light slanting over the ridge.
Great feathered blossoms drop and swoop
 …white against blue
white against green
white against black
as they fall into the shadowed land below.
Their screams pierce the morning silence,
waking the sky,
that stretches out now
to reach down to the ground.

 

Inspired by sgeoil’s lines The sky reached from the ground / all the way up and around and Nick’s seagulls.
I dreamt of peacock feathers and woke up to see the first rays lighting up a dead tree full of cockatoos, unbearably white against the blue sky. Here on the western side of the ridge the early morning sun lights up the tree tops, leaving the land below still in shadow, until the earth turns towards the day and the sky reaches down.      

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Brittlegums III

Once again their silvered skins
have dropped in disorderly curls,
like shed gowns, pooling at their feet.

 

It’s the last day of summer, and the brittle gums are well into shedding their bark. First they go from silver to dark grey, then the old bark peels off exposing the new white bark underneath. It’s hardly a spectacular autumn change, but it’s a marker of the changing seasons still.      

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