my mother’s garden — love the people you meet

Sharing this piece from my dear friend Mel Irvine.

my mother’s garden is older than me in places (it has places) i have never stood or seen until now, remembering cedar trees (dad planted them when we were little) and weekends spent collecting bush seeds, saplings and native vines, repotted in the school holidays when the other kids in the street visited the city […]

via my mother’s garden — love the people you meet

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The Feeling and The Sound of it…

Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts. I write songs as well and posts like this make me think I need to share them more as well as the poetry.

JamesRadcliffe.com

I write in order to get closer to the truth.

There are certain topics that I round on slowly, that I return to again and again, like a hunter stalking his prey in quiet circles, ever decreasing.

Before I sat down to write this post I asked myself: ‘Why make music?’

This is my answer:

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Wonder Valley

Just love this Melissa.

My favourite line: “air too dry for ghosts
signs scoured bare of their messages”

Melissa Shaw-Smith

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The cottage pulls itself apart at the joints in the heat of the day
settles back into itself at night

high desert wind clatters in the fan palms
fine dust coats the mirrors

In the yard husks of coyote melons
blow into the roots of the brittlebush

small things scurry across the wash
leaving shallow indentations in the sand

lizard, ground squirrel, jack rabbit
burrow under the creosote

beyond, a crust of manzogranite
oceans of baking salt flats

garrulous hunkered down shrubs
with the resilience of rock

a feral landscape of burnt out, boarded up cinder block
half-savage dogs behind chainlink fence

transient human purchase
slippery as sand

the highway lined by salvation—
liquor stores, animal shelters, churches

sun bleached cars drift
from one side of the yellow line to the other

air too dry for ghosts
signs scoured bare of their messages

crouch, bristle, burn
hold tight, bend with…

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Trains

Love this one Robert!

O at the Edges

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Trains

1

In the marrowbone of night,
your song parts the fog.

I never knew the secrets entrusted there.

I never knew that cinders and steel
could lie so passionately

and still believe that the watchman’s hours
would evaporate and leave us scratching for more.

I have stolen time.

The windows remain closed and shuttered.
Even the wind turns away.

The track narrows.

You call.

Again.

2

Sometimes song seems the only respite,
the rhythm of clashing cars

and moments stretched beyond the next bend
to that point where light winks out.

We both know this lonely tunnel.

Payment is due.

I have always exited alone.

3

Another evening, and red smoke completes the horizon.

Your ribs stretch for distance,
and while I cannot see their end,
I know by sound
their lot.

Sing for me.
It is not
too close.

“Trains” was originally published inLightning’d Press(Issue 8)…

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Losing the North

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Licuala palms

I lost your Licuala fan palm once seen everywhere
unless I found it in a special garden collecting
palms from every land and then

I lost your rhythm of heavy rain falling
again and again until the garden was
a lake and the day off work –

that might bring to family rained in
some respite from the demands of everyday life
to just sit and be family in song.

I lost that feeling of catching your
sun rise above the ocean if I felt so inclined or
sunrises above the cane

-across the road

I saw an ibis on a rooftop,
wondered if she dreamed herself with you.

A baby butcher bird adopted my family by the clothesline
sang to them life’s mysteries of
the lost and found.

(c) June Perkins

blackgumbootspearlz

Prompt 3- Using Line Breaks from Tweetspeak

 

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Licuala Rainforest – June Perkins

 

 

 

Mind of Forests

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One must have a mind of forests
branches creaking with the wind
a song of long forgotten ones
that fell

to be covered by shades of green, rich and velvet
tasted by the eyes
cupped in bowl like hands then
eaten for future dreams.

Light sneaks in from the sky
to streak across the
pathway below
through the gaps of green
lines of warmth
awakening.

I look to the leaves
dancing velvet
praise to the sky.

(c) June Perkins

Working with some prompts from Tweetspeak Poetry

Prompt one ‘One must have a mind of’ and sensory language.