A day of interruptions …

A day of interruptions. 

Good ones, really.

Even the thunder,

forcing me to unplug

from commitments, 

had me lie down instead

with my cat and a novel.

Late August storm ...

Late August storm 

sharp clatter of hailstones 

through rain and thunder –

I place a psychic shield

over my little car

After only a few weeks ...

 

After only a few weeks

of plant-based eating,

I’m losing my ‘sweet tooth’

in favour of new pleasures.

Why didn’t I do this years ago?

Contrary to cynical rumours ...

Contrary to cynical rumours 

about cats, this one often insists 

on long, smoochy cuddles

to which she abandons herself

ecstatically, before requesting food.

My friend who made ...

My friend who made magical items 

gave me several as gifts. A wand, 

a cup, certain physical spells.…  

Some others I bought from her, 

paying them off slowly. She seemed 

to think I needed the energy of green.

Was it prosperity, healing or peace

she wished to bestow on me? Now

that she is no longer here with us 

on earth, I remind myself to make sure

sometimes to wear green crystals.

Best of all ...

 

Best of all are the ones

with whom I can talk magic —

no, don’t even need to talk,

it being so deeply, wordlessly known

as the ever-present context: that

In which we live and are.

As the season changes ...

 

As the season changes 

we feel unsettled, my cat and me.

The only redress is tactile:

on cold nights having each other 

to cling to and cuddle.

A new moon landing …

A new moon landing.

I think of the debris 

littering Everest.

'Has life a meaning?'...

 

‘Has life a meaning?’ I asked.

He responded, ’Has life a meaning 

for whom?’ and looked self-satisfied.

I knew what he meant: we make 

our own meaning; everyone’s life has 

whatever meaning it’s given, as 

each one chooses and creates.

It’s one answer, and a good way

to live a life; I do it myself. But that

didn’t answer the question I asked.

My Tarot client ...

My Tarot client brings cake as well as the fee.

I think we’ll share it afterwards, over coffee, 

but the reading goes long and late. She gets

her answers but isn’t entirely convinced,

nevertheless leaves with a warm hug.

Recent deadlines met …

Recent deadlines met,

all that intensely focused 

writing and editing completed,

I flop and flounder, ignore 

other projects waiting,

put my head, instead, 

inside a racy page-turner

with an improbable plot

which I’ll forget by next week,

lap it up, nibble chocolate….

A day uneventful ...

 

A day uneventful yet perfect, 

leaving nothing to write about.

The night cold ...

The night cold eats my bones

and starts long shivers 

crawling over my skin.

(a) Google Blogger's ...

 

(a) Google Blogger’s changing its rules 

again; I wish it wouldn’t. 

(b) I’ve spent a long day doing final 

proofing of my memoir.

= Technology’s wonderful; also 

it drives me crazy.

The small cat wants to know …

The small cat wants to know, 

‘Where did our visitor go?

So warm and kind and sweet,

she was a real cat treat!

I’m glad to reclaim my space 

but I’ll miss her about the place.’ 

At the Gallery … Somewhere else …

 

At the Gallery we look at

blown-glass rounded like pottery, 

painted in soft shades of green.

The quiet curves exude peace.

The artist writes that she went walking,

drawn to surface growths and coverings:

moss, lichen, bark …

Somewhere else, we are shown

studio portraits of flowers, in colours

delicate or vivid, shocking us with joy

into an insufficiency of superlatives.

The artist tells us, smiling a moment

with the air of sharing a secret,

‘I like to think of them as people.’

A day of feasting …

A day of feasting — on fresh food, 

good wine, and my friend’s cooking;

on old tales told, confidences shared,

deepening understanding;

on the joy of giving 

and the pleasure of receiving.

Sharing with Poets and Storytellers United for Friday Writings #90: Food and/or Eating.

I sat awhile ...

I sat awhile with the mountain,

renewing acquaintance:

breathing in and out quietly, 

noticing birdsongs and breeze.

We had much to say to each other,

the mountain and I.

I went with her ...

I went with her today 

to the house she once built with her ex

(but stayed in the car 

while she went in and spoke to the owners).

They’d kept the colours she painted it 

and loved the trees she planted.

My cat decides ...

 

My cat decides to love 

my visiting friend – who, after all,

loved her at once, first.

They settle for the night,

sharing a bedroom.

It's been a long time ...

 

It’s been a long time 

since I heard the word Ringarooma,

but somebody posted a photo today

and huge nostalgia caught me

for all the small towns and villages

of my Tasmanian childhood,

and for the fathers, birth and step,

who both took us driving –

me and my little brother –

on roads and lanes, coast to coast,

crossing the tiny island,

and all through the middle too.

‘You can’t go back home again’? No –

and also you never really leave.

I open ...

 

I open the early morning blinds

to the sun's bright burst through the trees!