An evening walk finds me out along a jetty with a solitary feeling of silence.   The silence is changed when I hear a stir and I find I am not alone!
The photo I have added is one I took at The Entrance which I like to think picks up the words

“the last plum flush of the day “



a dormitory of cormorants sleep
strung out like dracula’s washing
on phosphate denuded branches
of norfolk pines
high above rippled
navy water of tuggerah lake


far to the west the wattigan range
the last plum flush of the day


the night sky
dimly at first
breathes thousands of tiny lights


walking alone
along the jetty


i hear a stir
shiver of reeds
vagrant swish of water


and glimpse
a cormorant


i stand and watch it
dive resurface dive again


in darkest water
playing alone

catching time

It was a special weekend at a resort for our sisters’s birthday. We took a walk on the beach and as you will hear, dear reader, there are disadvantages about getting older when walking on a beach, but what a special moment we experienced. This epiphany may not have been had if we were rushing by.

women on beach classic

catching time

its not so easy now
to walk on sand
my sister and I amble
aware of the strength of the breeze
that it might be a little easier walking back
aware of the challenging tilt
caught already by a wave
unable to get out of its way in time

we reminisce
how we ran and frolicked in the surf
how we chased each other
caught and plunged sand
down each others bathers

we stop
catch our breath

on the grassy bank
a heron grey and sleek
with devouring eyes
stalks stealthily
its long neck
like dune grass in the breeze
and peewees
giggling maids-in-waiting
follow behind

just for now
time stands still


Another image of the ocean. Here the way one day it can be full of the furies baring its teeth and the next like a ‘silken cloak’ . As you, the reader can see I love the ocean, its moods and its emotion.


an unflinching southerly
whipped up a frenzy
the outer rocks of the bombora
pointed and sharp
screamed in fury
a foaming dark monster
pounded roared devoured
all in its wake

a silken cloak
masks the bombora
liquid silver waves scroll past
fan gently onto the sand
with a whisper

on the edge
gazing to where sea and sky are one
my curled toes squelch wet sand

here extravagance excites
moods disturb
mystery seduces


Always looking for new images for the waves that roll in often looking as if they are showing off as they give off their spindrift especially golden in the morning sun. I thought of the coxcomb our rooster had when I was a little girl and it chased me all the way from the chook yard to my back door when I went up to feed it and be its friend . This day the waves had that same look.



wind whips up a moody day
buffs a motley sky

rain squalls in tide
busts out with fullness
slaps the rocks in glib elation

a wildness of waves
dizzily flamboyant
with flustered curl and spin
jostle their way to shore
plumed dandies together in a parade

rugged-up surfers
lean against their vans
scan the ocean boards still on their racks
envious of these coxcomb waves

lying on the beach

A memory of a beautiful morning on the Lennox beach protected from the sun but with sandy toes and a sandy pillow.

lying on the beach

in leafy-pandanus shade
a floppy summer hat
covers my face

and through its plaited fibres
sky shimmers purple-blue red and gold

ocean unaware of its charm
stretches languidly towards me
with a lullaby
my breath eavesdrops on its rhythm
warm sand pillows me
sifts between my toes

and i stay all morning
one with sand and sea and sky
being all this
it being all me

return of persephone

Persephone returns as promised and brings with her the spring, new life, new greening, new energy. As the myth goes Hades abducted her as a young girl and carried her down into the underworld. Her mother Demeter searched for her and by the time it was discovered where she was and demanded her return it was found she had eaten of the Pomegranate fruit, 6 seeds in all, hence Hades demanded his rights. It was decided Persephone would have to stay underground for half the year. Persephone returns for the other half bringing with her the spring and the earth flourishes with vegetation and colour. A poem written at dawn on the 1st of Spring was a joyful experience.


return of persephone

on a night-blue sea
still as lovers wrapped in slumber
persephone returns

a world is touched
handmaiden clouds stir

blush pulsate golden
on the edge of anticipation

the sea catches the moment
shimmers like ruffled satin

orange sand-dune clouds high above
hang on the moment

two in a canoe glide smoothly
dark and small on the ocean

an outboard putters
towards fishing grounds

flocks of gulls flash past
wings light up in their sweep

galahs flirt
magpies motif the dawn

flush of technicolour fires
dancing pomegranate-red
into an explosion of ecstasy

coastal walk

The following poem coastal walk is the next poem in this section of A Call to Listen

The miracle of silk that we find spun and hidden on mulberry leaves .
So is the miracle of the beauty of rock formations from sand and silt and pebbles laid down, forming rock and then sculptured by the sea and wind sometimes violently like the betrayer and sometimes caressing like a lover.
As we walk from The Entrance Beach around past the baths we enjoy the rocky shelf and headland sculptured by the wind and water and tides. It is waved and striated and patinated and honeycombed and is a joy to the eye.

coastal walk

my eyes trace lines
that curve and swirl
track contours and circled altars
waiting their tide reunion
where only soft padded periwinkles
and sharp edged oyster shells venture
landscapes of sculptures composed
by the dreamtime of water wind and sand
a patterned mosaic
dioramas unfolding
like silken threads from a mulberry tree

each line each ripple
a stretch mark wrinkle scar
has its story

with the tide the ocean
rolls and thunders
sometimes her fingers
like talons scratch and claw
yet eternally patient
her hands caress
love and mould
soothe and soften the violent edges
touch the secret caverns
and with each tide seduce a little more

maybe salacia


The following poem maybe salacia in A Call to Listen was chosen for the Central Coast Poets Inc 2014.
I was invited to read my poem at the launch and was fortunate to be able to do so.
My sister Kay Ward who lives on the Central Coast was present, my husband and my Grandson Lachlan Keating. An exciting day.

maybe salacia

she walks the beach
scanning shells on the edge
in a loosely tied sarong
hair swept up under a wide brim hat
face lined with many lifetimes

fishermen and sailors nod and smile
sea gulls rummaging along the shore hardly notice

she walks barefoot on the sea-soaked sand
tracing the waving wrinkled water mark
bites of the winter sea at her toes

she bends to receive tumbled gifts
golden whelks, salty periwinkles
spindled limpets black neuritis spotted voluted cowries

some say she listens to the music of the sea
others say she’s a drifter
or perhaps
an artist living her art
a poet living a poem
some say she belongs to the deep
maybe goddess of the sea

now and then she gazes out
to where the sea and sky converge
as if she yearns
to slip between the sentinels of crashing waves
to her home beyond




imagine walking along a noisy street
mind twirling like a wind blown chime
enter a parkland
where even your footsteps
are absorbed by the grass

find yourself like alice shrunk in wonderland
before a field of sunflowers
with dawning faces like a thousand spinning suns
fanfare of rusted gold
dressed lavishly in green

watch them turn a slow liturgical dance
to follow the sun
and be amazed

busily as is their destiny
nectar for bees
seeds rowed up in lines for birds

then stand scarred weather-worn
to their last crumble crunched
dried up life cycle

they have no desires
only lush beauty
and their moment in time

The poem above was inspired by a writers retreat in Toowoomba at Lyn and Rick B & B when over the road in the gardens the Sunflowers were at their full glory beckoning me to join with all the other poets and artist and musicians and find words to continue their glory



This is the next poem in A Call to Listen . It is the second poem in the third section Treading Water.  


her night gown falls
she opens for the majesty
of morning
her young maiden blush
fills the sky

the ocean
with a shimmering smile

on the headland
a poet
like a lover
gazes in awe
ponders her beauty
and grapples for words