31.xii.20
366
three poems (well are
they? really?) to end the year
under house arrest in
bush week
a festive treat and
funeral for the year
featuring multiple
haiku
the year at home
and the rain now
the rain at home
year’s fond farewell
creek considers permanent residence
better than the fires
the world smokes a little less this year
some more of me
some less of it
the world I mean
we’re home!
under arrest
in a village of clouds
the rain moved in with us
but now and then a breather
I wander off into the day
breeze lightly and thick of
hours of the book
lie buried in weather
how lizardly and up
jungle it if you will
goanna in a tree cling
and shy
snuck around the side
other headlines –
pumpkin, farmer’s friend
a tangle
and a tussle for the soil
in petrichor
we mull the mist
a kookaburra bides
then in a begin again
close tribe of trill and fritter
drop in for the moment’s shelter
and call upon here spirits
world and home and rain
are one
hear trickle
so cicada hush
and come again the one-to-tank
pond-needful
you can tell it on the page collecting
intricaries of underbliss
the lessons press us here
re-set elsewhere
it’s here we mulch the year
although the wasp and yes mosquito
very few of the animals wish
to attack us
though sometimes trip each other up
that’s from not watching
perhaps the Jabberwock?
no one can speak for the JubJub and yet
one finds oneself year end such a song
then overhill it
do the dale
home with the cows and come
up to your old roost
quip
or take a train of thought
beyond the year
means must have come to the month of Sundays
harvest or blue you decide on a moon
we may never see stars again
yet we will imagine sun
deeps of a path
and the cats yet unherded
fine misted
summer
must watch where you go
see the pond to flower
keep the paths by foot
trees of the creek in last light
not just me
it’s everyone under house arrest
so suddenly shelter’s not so easily escaped
when will we paint the cave still?
I looked everywhere for that extra day
some say it was February, could have lost it there
or in the wash with the socks
heavy on the roof
know it’s eased
when the cicadas pulse back
and which is the more wishful?
the rain persisting here
I take off my hat
unzip and join in
umbrella tree
approaches the clouds
where else is there to go?
tribe of clocks attend
every now and happens then
find my own resignedness
of fripperies and follies
my resolution?
to take myself off the list
of those who have to achieve
words and everything else for fun!
maybe then I will come to the story
swim pictures of day
be the poem at last
then maybe I’ll get the chance
to actually get a thing done
my best inventions for
the year
were
FLIK-A-BALL
(which is just the top of the box)
the box is called DOWN AND OUT
which is where the balls go BUT
the bigger box it all comes in is called
PING PONG PARLOUR
because there are even more games
and they all involve coloured ping pong balls
stay tuned
this is why we need new years!
the other great invention was
SOLAR DOG
goes everywhere collecting
under its own steam if the sun is shining
then comes back to the kennel to roost of a night
and powers up your house car what-have-you
(put the finder through – look it up! invented it months ago)
but I realized that this was an invasive species
(might as well settle for lunar cat [gobbles down fauna]
and of course we’d be better off with indigenous solutions
what was I thinking?) –
hence solar wombat (similar but less flighty),
solar possum (clearly this one’s not nocturnal
but climbs to the top of the tree which is where
the sun will be if there is) and let’s not forget
solar echidna (every spine collecting!)
whichever way the solar collector goes it’s a winner
(if they can do it on Mars!)…
and will come in all shapes and sizes
go everywhere the sun goes
and frankly, be a lot of fun
which is really the whole point about inventing
of course these things are yet to exist
it’s why I mention them here
and last a little nod
to C.J. Dennis
it’s good to be an island
when the plague has come
and close your ports
and shut up shop
lie feet up in the sun
say ‘world, screw you’
then at nose end
you wave a wicked thumb
but I wouldn’t be island
if it wasn’t so much fun
… would you?
