Sometimes the dark is nothing

They wander along the beach, search
the horizon for ships
or bottles, clear
messages of need carried by
a powerless sea that licks footprints
from the sand under the sun's
copper-beaten glow. I remember
the salt claiming skin, the tightening
of dreams until all that was left
was the breeze in the dark.

The Song of the Spring

The creek sings
the chorus
as it bubbles
through the forest.
Native ferns
sprout - new life
nurtured with steam
that settles
on petals and leaves
the forest fresh
faced.

Sometimes home is blue

She wears Wedgewood blue
like a double-breasted cloak,
a reminder of her mother
and tiny dishes on the dresser
that held knick knacks
and memories of home.

Some things will be remembered forever

I wanted to return to that place,
that cottage at the end
of the steep, twisted driveway
where Nana taught me
how to bake pies,
blackcurrant pies
we would eat
with ice cream
and Rodd silver spoons
that now sit in their box,
tarnished.
But now there's motorway
snaking through the countryside
and the white cottage exists
only in my memory.

He left it in the paddock

The barbed wire fence
curved like the spine
of a spitting cat,
surrounded the paddock
and kept a prisoner
of the grey wheeled tractor.