Poem No. 3: Trilogy of Poem From a Single Walk
Small sliver of silver-white crescent.
How I’ve missed you, my friend the moon.
I stroke the young shoots of gum trees as I saunter through them.
The dog meanders out into the road and I scold him, then rebuke myself just as gently. How is he is to know? He goes ..goes where he pleases..do not I do the same?
Verte grass reaching above the dog’s shoulders. I love the look of it, yet can’t help thinking the snakes might lie in wait.
The pastures are lush.
Orange of the sky..how may metres high? The washing on a clothesline speaks volumes to me by reflecting these same hope-filled colours.
The sun radiates in the evening..glorious peach punch with tones of red sangria. I’m drunk on the world once again.
Dusty grey and the lights come out out to play.
Cars zoom by and trucks rattle through.
On the way way back, my moon still hangs overhead in a comforting manner.
The autumn is here. Crickets have returned. It is music.
_Bottles and Cans_
I slip on the royal-blue and silver turle necklace from a friend. Made in my homeland by Native American hands. Possibly distant relations of mine…no matter how distant. I channel their energy.
Extra plastic from the 80s style soda bottle; metal lid, extra rim of black plastic at the base. Wasteful, non? So it changed.
Dusty olive green transluscence of the wine bottle with the
Crimson throated label.
The reflections of childhood crop up in the opaque chocolate milk conatiner. I collect these three on the way home to deposit in our bin at the end of the drive.
The dog waits as I cross to the other side of the road once more, after spotting the empty can of Guinness.
I smell it’s rim and almost wish to place my lips on it in anticipation of St. Patrick’s Day.
Drink can have negative and positive connotations. I’ll take the positive spin today.
On the 17th, I’ll drink a homebrewed pint and also say a novena for the war torn parts of Ireland and Irish-America.
For now I’ll play a harp shaped zither that I’ve lovingly, but mistakenly, dubbed a dulcimer! It is old, weathern-worn and some strings are missing, but I love it. Tonight I will start playing once more!
_This Land is Alive_
Two ibis overhead.
Several brown horses in the pastures.
The autumn is here absolutely.
The cicadas are loud now.
So on the way home they sometimes seem to scream a warning as I notice the grey closing around and the dim street lights flipping on.
This world is still alive.
Why would you want to kill it and the souls on the earth?