#915 - three winter sunshine pieces on foot

 

9.vii.22

915

3.189

three winter sunshine pieces on foot

 

untitled

 

the existence of things means a lot to me

I’d like to thank you all

 

day grows into a path

you need to watch where you go

 

I don’t even know the names of the weeds

but nothing will ripen now

 

I love to be out where the creek goes

and hear a tractor too

 

sludgily afoot

all beaming

 

bend a little with the breeze

and ramble on to hours

 

being is bigger than me

just as pointless as any prayer

 

today, collecting sunshine

is all I have to do

 

 

 

 

suburban countryside

 

the shining day after

its deeps of ripe

 

green for far

blue further

 

vines grow winter

over a wreck

 

a pigeon lift

by ear alone

 

I mask it

in the years of rain

 

the town is

a practised flatness

 

with parrot bright

and dog to lawn

 

water over the road

the sign still says

 

they fly the flag

here there

 

to say –

what is you think

 

that they mean?

 

 

 

 

it’s under the rug, a clean sweep

 

river rose through the town

some fool to mock drove in

 

nor half as silly as a house here

or worldwide all-fossil party

 

ah, chimneys, diesel, pardon me boys

I’d go for a Queenslander myself

 

or just consider somewhere else

flood sign’s still there

 

it’s as with old Leo’s fruit and veg –

gone but the words remains

 

the hospital’s too and the nursing home

some church swallowed another and went

 

I pass the 1^st Bulahdelah Scouts

and wonder how many there are