Silvergull writes
Scribbles in the sand
Enjoy. Decipher. Comment
Just acknowledge these pages are mine.
Silvergull writes
Scribbles in the sand
Enjoy. Decipher. Comment
Just acknowledge these pages are mine.
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A round egg
Pale blue marble effect
Even the size of a marble
Light weight and seemingly fragile
As if I could crush it between my thumb and forefinger
I hold it to the light
And there is a dark mass stirring
So it lives, this egg
I put it back where I found it
On my bedside table
Hiding among fantasy books, tissues and yesterday’s jewellery
And I wake each day with curious breath
Wondering what will hatch beside my bed
Finally on a Sunday morning
When I am hungover from last night’s party
And restless from haunting dreams of indigo wings
I see a crack
All day I watch
In between household chores
And Sunday brunch with the kids
Finally at sunset
The crack is wide enough
And out crawls
A fairy
Bedraggled wings lie flat
Upon her thin back
She lies on my book cover
Waiting to dry
Waiting to fly
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In spring children ran
Through rainbows on stems
Hand holding hand
Through holiday swarms
—
In winter-bare trees
Flew coloured balloons
Like the strangest of flowers
Like coloured moons
—
Girls rocked their fairy wings
And glittering haloes
Boys worked their capes
Like trainee super-heroes
—
And musicians jammed
On temporary stands
While costumed players
Danced in the spring
Posted in celebration, poems, poetry | Tagged Floriade, poem, poems, poetry, Spring | 2 Comments »
JACK OF ANGELS
Jack of Angels is searching
For a ladder to Heaven
‘Cause he’s sprained his wing
And it hurts to fly
Little Mirriam dances around him
Asking child’s questions
Eyes flash like dark diamonds
And their baggage – a puppy and a bird
Wiggle wih curiosity and unguarded hope
Jack’s footprints shine on asphelt
Air shimmers around him
Afraid to bump a feather
Or kiss a freckle
His arms are filled with little girl
And warm puppy
The bird preens on his shoulder
Jack looks on to where he’s going
Losing track of where he’s been
Behind him skips an entourage of motley strays
Thrilled to follow wherever he leads
Posted in Angel, poems, poety, portraits | Tagged Angel, poem, poetry, portrait | Leave a Comment »
We have had our new kitten for 6 weeks now. He’s a long pale ginger gentleman with marmalaide eyes. He must have some orieintal breed in his genes – he has a Siamese cry. When we found him at the RSPCA, he was long and small. Slightly frail looking. He has since doubled his weight and his feet are still big – which means he has a lot more to grow.
Oh, but he is cute and smartand stable and gentle and loving. And fun. Our bomb-proof kitten. Except for motor cycles and helicoptors.
Max the long-suffering labbie dog is the same colour, maybe a tad blonder. And I saw a very sweet little boy in the mall – exactly same colouring! Wow! I could have a matched set of cute ginger darlings! But I don’t think his Mum would let me take him home. Sigh.
Posted in cat | Tagged cat, kitten | 1 Comment »
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Special early Christmas dinner was made just for us last night. Entre prucietta, brie and spinache pastry. Main chicken breast stuffed with organic honey & macadamian nuts with Caesar salad and prawns. Desert homemade semifreddo with raspberries. We contributed pannetone, wine and other drinks including fresh ground coffee. Felt very spoilt.
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We had fun at Gillian Polack’s home, celebrating Chanukah.
I like being part of people’s celebrations, even when I don’t share their faith. Any celebration that draws friends together, teaches me about other ways and shows me a darned good time is fine by me.
Gillian’s celebration did all that. I caught up with friends. We shared a finger feast of samosas, pide, spring rolls, home-baked cheesecake and more.
I didn’t gamble for chocolate coins, but I was there for the lighting of the Chanukah menorah.
Then we had frozen strawberry daiquiris and Gillian’s amazing home-made fruit liquors – a sweet tangy medlar liquor and a piquant cumquat liquor. They’re based on brandy and I’ve never tasted anything like them. I’m glad I wasn’t driving.
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There’s a way through life
That your feet learn by walking
Fluid as water, changeable as weather
The path you walk starts at birth
And ends at your death
Yet it began before you
And will continue after you
The way is its own magic
It owns you and transforms you
And nurtures you like a mother
And when the old man
Worn out and footsore
Reaches the end of his days
He is taken home into the way
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I’ve been reading Stephen King’s Dark Tower series and I can only regret that I didn’t find it years earlier. I’m up the fourth book, so there’s a few more to go.
The beauty of the language and imagery floors me, not to mention a rip roaring adventure featuring characters drawn by a master.
I’m loving it. King is turning my poetry brain on.
I haven’t seen a wonder for a while
I’ve seen a fun-der
And a sun-der
But nothing’s rocked my soul
In the dream fogged night
Nothing’s made me breath thanks
To the may-be god
For the glory of enlightenment.
.
Glory, glory
I need to know that something is worth the daily grime
I need to feel transported beyond the limits of my finite skull
By the potential of imagination
.
Glory, glory
What may be
On a new summer’s day
When the world is a plum ripe for plucking
Posted in fantasy, horror, poem, poems, poetry, Stephen King | Tagged fantasy, horror, poem, poems, poetry, Stephen King | Leave a Comment »
The ANU Poets Lunch has continued , in various incarnations, for the last
30 years – and remains a mad poets’ wine party where Alice is always tipsy but never drunk and the Cheshire cat passes around non-animal rennet cheeses. The latest episode was held on Wednesday 2nd December at the ANU Emeritus Faculty.
This year’s lunch was dedicated to Joel Webster, a generous friend who sadly is no longer with us.
This year’s theme was Pandora’s Box (which may have been an amphora, according to David Walker’s illustration) and we spent several enjoyable hours examining its contents.
Here’s my contribution:
Wings and Stings
Just a little bit
I won’t give right in
But I need this
Solace
You make me feel
Champaign bubbles in my veins
What might we be
You and me?
Shh.Just a little more
My temptation
I despair when you leave
And crumple at your touch
Like a doll entranced by its makerYou are strong wine
I crack
And all my disparate bits of
Love, joy, desire and sacred honour
Go flying
Out on ghostly wings
Poor heedless moths
Save only one
Remains entrapped
The dearest part that knows the lie
I can’t let go of
Hope
It was unanimously agreed that Pandora was givena bum rap and the case against her was dismissed by the poetic jury as being yet another instance of women bearing the blame for all the world’s woes.
We also remembered that it’s been 20 years since several of us, including Joel and myself, first hosted ‘Writers at Kimbos’ .
Long ago, but not far away, on Monday nights at Kimbos winebar in Phillip, we conducted readings of poetry and short prose for a couple of years. Wow. So many years have passed and yet I don’t feel that much older. I guess everybody has that complaint. I can’t remember where the years went, nor can I re-use the time. Heavy sigh – that’s life.
In 1991, our small committee published ‘Rescuing Beached Mondays’, a collection of the first year’s readings which contained some fine poetry and prose, including work by Joel, Mark O’Connor, Lorne Doyle, Brian Hungerford, Myron Lysenko, Linchay Bone, Robin Davidson, Trevor Crook and many talented others. Strangely, after all these years, the book can still be found at BibliOZ and Marlowes Books.
It only had a small print run – only 500 copies, but it was well received. We were pleased with the collection, and consequently founded Boris Books, named after David Walker’s marvellous cat, Boris Katoff, who sat on every page.
Boris has been an absent friend for many years, but Boris Books born in 1993, is still alive – if not prolific – and even manages to break even.
Not bad for a small press.
Posted in ANU Poets Lunch, poem, poems, poetry, poets lunch | Tagged ANU Poets Lunch, Boris Books, Kimbos, poem, poems, poetry, Rescuing Beached Mondays | 1 Comment »