This morning’s wattlebird carried a question across the sky — a fleeting shimmer of light and wonder. Inspired by that moment, I found myself chasing the same golden touch through words and image, letting the Dream’s warmth echo the poem’s quiet hope.
Will I Be the One? (a Tanka)
There’s a wattlebird Flying past the golden sun And then I wondered Who will be the chosen one to receive the Midas touch?
And as the wattlebird slips past the golden sun, this song carries the same gentle light forward.
Fifty years arrives like a soft, golden hush — a moment where memory steps forward, hand in hand with the present. As tomorrow’s anniversary draws near, I found myself looking toward the sky, letting its warm light guide me back through the years. This Tanka is the quiet breath before the day itself, a small reflection of the love still shimmering in every sunset.
Tomorrow’s Our 50th Anniversary (a Tanka)
Sunset’s pure-gold sky And I’m inwardly smiling. She’s flamboyantly channeling me — a bright clue: tomorrow’s our golden day.
And tomorrow, as the golden sky leans close, her light will rise through me once more.
Spring arrived today with a quiet kind of joy — a bird lifting into the morning light, gulls gliding above the bay, and a flowering tree catching the sun just right. On my walk to the café, these small moments gathered around me, each one adding its own note to the season’s first song. By the time I sat down with my coffee, a Tanka had already begun to bloom — shaped by the warm promise of the new season.
Spring is Singing (a Tanka)
Daylight’s kissing earth, Its warm glow hugs everything, And the midday sun Thaws my once‑wavering wings — Now nature’s choir is singing
As spring begins to rise, a tender melody of warmth and light to accompany the season’s first song.
A heavy sky greeted us before breakfast, the clouds shifting and uncertain as we walked beneath the trees. Yet even in that muted light, something brighter seemed to stir behind the grey — a quiet reminder that beyond the darkness, a softer universe is always waiting to break through.
Universe of Light (a Tanka)
Above nature’s trees Behind life’s wavering clouds Beyond the darkness There’s a universe of light Waiting to caress your soul
Where the glow waits behind every wavering cloud. Even here, the universe of light begins to open.
This Tanka began with a small moment of irony. While sheltering from the cold and waiting for the weather to clear, I spotted a piece of street art near the café — the words “Sunsets in Zadar” painted across a brick wall. I noticed straight away that it carried a perfect five‑syllable rhythm, an ideal opening line for a Haiku or Tanka. From that simple spark, the poem grew into a quiet reflection spoken from the sun itself, reaching across horizons with its global glow.
Zadar Sunsets(a Tanka)
Sunsets in Zadar I’m nowhere near Croatia But here within view Above your hill’s horizon My global glow finds your land
A final touch of light to end the moment — a sunset song to accompany the sun’s own words, drifting across horizons just as the poem does.
This afternoon’s sky gifted me a flock of silhouettes — pigeons rising and circling through the light as if carrying the world’s weight on their wings. Their quiet resilience inspired the Tanka below, a small reflection on the lives caught beneath the shadows of conflict.
Pigeons of the World (a Tanka)
Here under the sun I am not the only one Being overrun By the world’s greedy hired guns Who’s minding our war torn sons?
And still the sky remembers what we forget — even the pigeons know the rise and fall of empires.
Please note: All the images are mine and then sharpened and enhanced by Copilot.
Under the full moon’s watch, the Corellas turn the late afternoon sky into a jubilant parade.
The Full Moon and the Corellas(a Tanka)
I hear them squawking As they fly through my blue sky Those white Corellas May look very elegant But they sound like elephants
As a small tribute to Glen Hansard, whose music has long travelled beside me — a voice that rose and broke like birds in the late‑afternoon sky — here is his unforgettable performance of Bird of Sorrow.
Some days arrive quietly and leave a lasting tremor in the heart. Today was one of them. This finale 75th birthday wasn’t just a celebration of another year — it became a gathering of the people who have walked beside me through the most profound chapters of my life.
This group of friends is woven into every part of Carole’s story. They were there when she and I first met, full of hope and laughter. They were there when MS entered our lives forty‑four years ago, offering care, strength, and the kind of support that can only come from people who love without hesitation. Through three decades of Carole’s battle, they stood with us — not as visitors, but as family.
And even after Carole passed fourteen years ago, the thread didn’t break. Every three or four months, we gather to honour her astonishing life — her compassion, her grace, and that infectious smile that could soften any room. Today, on my birthday, that ritual became something deeper. It felt like a circle closing gently around memory, friendship, and the enduring presence of a woman who shaped us all.
The Crew, and my birthday Barbeque Apron present; a handcrafted gift by Dot … “Macbeth shall never vanquished be until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him.”
Everlasting (a Tanka)
This circle of friends, like a silver wedding ring, bright and long-lasting, lovingly loyal and strong — yet time does not weary them.
A tune for the long road we’ve walked together — still singing, still smiling. A journey that continues to be brightened by loyal friends.
Last night’s twilight carried a strange chromatic weight — colours deepening, clouds gathering, the horizon holding its breath. And on this cold winter evening, that same wintry mood returned and shaped the Tanka below
Twilight’s Chromatic Storm (a Tanka)
Dark Ominous clouds Growl along the horizon Then suddenly howl Over trees and open fields Dumping sharp, icy black pearls
And in the fading light, as twilight settles, the storm’s voice drifts into song.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 