My contribution to Water Under the Bridge: IPM2015 has been published today at Bonnie McClellan’s Weblog
Night Like an Empire Falls.
The poetry on offer during this International Poetry Month is, as always, of a very high standard and I’m thrilled to be taking part.
Many thanks to Bonnie McClellan.
Mount Lofty Ranges
It came to me in a dream. I was parked on a verge north from Burra by the Barrier Hwy, 20 km south of Hallet. The shadows of low cumulus clouds were dreamily drifting over the wind turbine-lined slopes of the Mount Lofty Ranges; the soft yellow glow of an immense wheat field backscattering off the dusty metallic grey paint of Vincent. I was genuinely happy, and had an inexplicable craving for Weet-Bix with butter and vegemite. I brought my journal out, and used Vincent’s boot to write a poem on.
Like Starry Sparklers over the Mount Lofty Ranges,
so are the windswept powers of turbines
(insignia of Mitsubishi, in my informed fancy).
While my thoughts moved back and forth between the images in search of the next part, the apparition of a shingleback lizard appeared to me. I recognised it from the day before. It poked a dry gumnut flower with its blue tongue. “Like the exuviae of our nymphal instars, so are the fields of pinkish-brown cross-stitched with yellow dwarf thread,” he grinned, widely.
Happy looking shingleback
I stared a little disbelievingly out at him. “You shed your skin in pieces,” I said. “It’s not an exoskeleton that you can just wriggle out of.”
Without another word the shingleback turned, and toddled off into the wheat field.
Toddling off shingleback
rectangle ’round globose cones:
In a state of being cushioned, with a paper plate of cheesecake
and a cardboard cup of coffee at a cafe,
from a higgle-piggled parent-pulling pandemonium
of supermarket checkout prams and trolleys,
while endeavouring to pen a ballad set within the landscape
of a bustling shopping plaza in the burbs.
Am I the only person here who’d rather down a schooner
at the RSL and rack a clutch of billiards?
when out of the fizzling highway mirage
a roadblock of starlings materialised,
condensing there only to shatter against
the shimmering ghost of an oncoming car,
cloud together, and rain on a sheoak.
A stunning looker,
too rare to pass up this chance…
nice weather, innit?