Watch out for bumble bees

When I was little
I ignored bumble bees.
I watched daisies
and dandelions
and avoided wasps
as they waited on yellow,
poised to puncture
the foot of a supposed
predator. Now
it's the mumbling,
bumbling of fat bees
that I survey hovering
around the lavender,
hung drunkenly in mid-air
looking as if at any moment
their girth will thicken
and send them hurtling
to the ground
at my feet.

Good Morning

There was a moment today
when I saw you in the light
creeping through the cottage.
I opened the curtain

and realised you were cloud
embracing morning. Cloud
settling on snow. High
country farming hidden

in the dawn heralded
by bellbirds, broken
only by the blue day
and beeches below.

just one more before i go on holiday, hope you like it.


The joy of a child

Not only am I sun-kissed
but I carry stars in my palm,
blue stars that I might have caught -
though it is known a star may fall
it cannot be caught,
held tight,
carried about like a dream.
My blue stars fell
from the round eyes of children
and I carry them,
feather-weight gifts
with palm pressed to heart
so I will never forget
the pleasures of learning
next to them.

Parent teacher interviews are coming soon

It hurts to stand
to speak
to a crowd of strangers, eyes
focused on one
spot, that slippery space
between my eyes, above
flushed pink cheeks, painted
and primed for just such an event
as this, the gathering
of the guardians.

A season's change

Yesterday there were rosellas
in the weeping cherry,
eating leaf buds and wiping beaks
on naked boughs. Today

finches are fannying about
tempting me out
into late winter, bouncing
on branches wringing raindrops
to the ground. I'll go out there

and sure as eggs is eggs
the sun will kiss my cheek,
the wind will give me bed hair
and puddle-mud will ooze
between my toes.