Here in this verdant pasture
deep rooted and age gnarled
yet somehow quite delicate
grey-brown and lichen cladYour branches have sheltered
so many playful innocent lambs
in their daffodils of spring
they have grown in your shadeAnd now in this your season
burst forth a cloud upon the land
a brilliant explosion of blossom
ten million butterflies of pink
Abandoned by modern aspirations
replaced by concrete and steel
warped and shrinking timbers
an amber chaff of peeling paintStill in place where it was discarded
vine-wrapped and faded away
empty window eyes and doorway mouth
cracked brick of a chimney askewOnce the vibrant happy homestead
the laughter of children now ghosts
green moss in contrast in a sea of grey
a cold and unsettling inertia
dark pendulous clouds
a lingering bitter chill
we all yearn for warmth
a little sliver of light
What is this sweet intoxication?
travelling in the hot evening air
laced with spice and the scent of bare skin
the radiant warmth of cobble stones
Is it the heady smell of citrus?
drifting from windows all clad in blue
overture to the foreign chatter
the streets awake as the twilight falls
Did you smell my infatuation?
as you lead me down those narrow stairs
a smokey room with beaded curtains
mint tea and the sense of adventure
Would that fragrant perfume still linger?
in the gaudy fabric of the place
I doubt that it would stimulate me
quite as much as when we stole away
Was it the swift southerly wind that swept
up the narrow entrance to the harbour
and cleared the mid-day heat from the hills
dragged the tiresome humidity from the air?
Or was it the last fingers of golden dusk
that crept up longitudinal valleys
and rendered the colours all to charcoal
gave way to the night’s deep inky hues?
Or perhaps inevitable evening’s sighs
transition from harsh bright yellow to twilight
as we stood upon the waterfront
while the ocean turned to obsidian?
Was it the coarse cries of returning gulls
the footsteps of a well weathered commute
that left you dumbfounded and speechless
when I asked you that important thing?
Broad spit of golden sand
marked at its crown and ridge
by feathers of fine grass
and the water’s driftwood line
the ghost of highest tides
Summer sun has bleached
the timbers white and grey
and shelly lace upon the ground
crunches under heavy foot
waves the sonorous percussion
Sturdy apron on the shoreline
rounded boulders dark grey
tossed there by great poseidon
once the base of granite cliff
now softened by a greater force
Amber evening’s fingers spread
across the brooding groups of birds
their sanctuary rendered calm
huddled together against the night
natures shadow on quiet beach
When it rains in paradise
the smell is electric blue
a clean mist rises and
the earth breathes a sigh
When it rains in paradise
everything is made serene
the shutters open and
the people all smile
When it rains in paradise
the ground is made new
lush flora burgeons and
the birds all rejoice
When it rains in paradise
great waters flow onwards
refreshing the plains and
replenish our cups
Bullshit poet shouts lazy lyrics
sunglasses to hide his crazy eyes
tattoo tear-drop a plastic provenance?
maybe misguided youth’s marker
Foreign tourists consult the timetable
backpacks, caps and shin high socks
are they looking for somewhere clean?
they’re only about two blocks off
Native preacher mumbles and sighs
giving a lecture, incoherent and drawn
does he know what he is babbling?
that faculty seems to have departed
Burdened girl with black, vacant stare
gazes lustfully at her lame colleague
will he notice that she wants him?
his cigarette smoke smell and rebellion
Chattering simpletons tear up tickets
spread their chaff in to the breeze
do they come here every day to watch?
they seem to know the drivers’ names
Grey-haired gentility rifles through handbag
trying not to notice the scent of it all
surely she’d have been driven in today?
maybe her husband went to golf instead
I stood upon the mountain and watched
the blessed twilight falling upon
those glistening fields of emerald green
A smooth, clear night approaches from
the inky east, the navy star sphere
and sets across those silent plains
And in the west the last of day-time
disappears ‘neath a distant range
a jagged tear of sunlight, above the land
Bare-footed wench strides confidently
trolley luggage in tow, bus ticket in fist
where could she possibly be going to?
a place where shoes are not required
Grubby faced baby chews a biscuit rusk
food stained bib, glassy eyed stare
what did she have for breakfast today?
something brown, not totally nutritious
Dilapidated youth sit for their breakfast
brown paper sacks, golden arches, soda
weren’t they sat there also yesterday?
sheepskin lined boot-slippers and all
Man in track pants and tattered singlet
clutches a crumpled black shopping bag
does he think it hides the beer bottle?
everyone can smell it anyway, mate!
Uniformed schoolgirls gossip like hens
who slept with who, when and where
is it desirable to be so promiscuous?
perhaps immorality is a badge of rank
Thin man in leather jacket blows smoke
lets the ashes fall around the clean path
obviously ignoring the ‘no smoking’ sign
the stench is perfume to his urban filth
LVX CREARE 