plover

southerly buster

colleen Poetry , , , ,

 

Another one of my poems about the sea. I had walked from The Entrance around past the pool towards Toowoon Bay,  when I saw the southerly coming, always a relief from the heat of summer,  but when you  get caught out walking, you need a tree for protection.  And as you will discover in the following poem I was not alone looking for cover in the down pour.

 

 

c_southerly_buster1-1

 

southerly buster

on a pearly-silver day
a celestial backdrop
of slanted shafts of light
cloud-ripe
for a bearded god
to peer over
with smile or frown

I rambled
around reefy outcrops
perfect for crashing spindrift displays
with miniature ocean-worlds at my feet

but the weather turned

swirling charcoal wind
like cold grey dragon’s breath
heaved
scudded sand
whipped my legs making
my walk a huddled hurry
scurrying to beat the squall.

a banksia near the sand
saved the soaking that could have been
honey dew cones
dripped
as i crouched for shelter

my walk cut short
the sea shrouded
vista gone
i could’ve felt alone
but two birds joined me
masked lapwing plovers
their long-legs danced
delighting this turn around day

from my bedroom window

colleen Poetry , , , , , ,

lorikeet.

One of my best friends from my school days is in a rehab hospital after hurting her back. I visited her today and found the place rather depressing being confronted with the world of rehabilitation, age and struggle of those trying to get better. The most beautiful time of my visit was a short walk we took into the garden and both of us stopping and watching two Plovers or maybe the cousin two Masked Lapwing feeding and chatting and busy about minding their space.
Such a rewarding experience. We couldn’t see the eggs anywhere (they lay them in the grass) but both parents were making their raucous ki ki ki ki call every now and then and continued to forage in the grass ignoring us. Their uniform black and grey and white with their yellow neck decoration makes them distinctive and they were enjoyable to watch.

I call this a moment of grace for us both. Some could say a triumph of light over darkness. Moments of grace so often a gift from nature, change us – our perceptions, our perspectives and our lives. I feel the following poem taken from the section called The W, The Web,, plumbago,eb from A Call to Listen speaks of this.

from my bedroom window

a low aching sky
colour of wet elephant skin
swathes its heavy hide around me
a tunic for a warrior woman

blue flowering plumbago
laden with rain droplets
quivers in the breeze

a rainbow lorikeet dangles
from a drooping grevillea

the yellow-ribboned spider
orbited in diamond splendour
awaits her prey

the rusting gutter weeps a spangle of tears
ripples rhythmically the puddle it makes
its slow-tapping beat
becomes the music of this silver-slated day