One small flower caught my eye on our walk, and of course Frankie had to follow me in — just to make sure I wasn’t finding something better than him.
An Interesting Flower
We were meandering back along our beaten walking track when like an undercover spy I saw a flower with my inquisitive eye As I ventured into the shrubbery there, right behind me, was Frankie “What’s Dad found in there – is it something tasty for me?”
Well Frankie, I’ve since discovered, the flower was an African Iris, they are drought-resistant and like those sandy banks near our track.
Frankie approved the flower — and he definitely approves this track to finish the walk.
Hello, dear readers and followers. I contribute to Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) every second week, and I’m delighted to share that my latest poem,“Is My Horizon Unreachable?” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below. >> Is My Horizon Unreachable? – Coffee House Writers
Some moments arrive with a kind of stillness that asks you to look a little longer. Today, the sky was crossed with dark, wiry lines and the slow sweep of wings, each moment carrying its own quiet message. As I followed those shapes toward the brightening horizon, a poem began to form — unplanned, but insistent — rising out of the light which was beyond my reach.
Beyond the last pylon, let the music carry you the rest of the way toward that unreachable light.
And so the final arc of my rainbow trilogy rests here, carrying me gently into tomorrow.
Sunday arrives with a softer kind of clarity — rainbow light lingering after the night’s dream‑relay, a lone bird rising through the blue, and the moon keeping quiet watch above it all. After drifting between yesterday, tomorrow, and today, I find myself settling into the calm of the morning, letting its gentle hope unfold in its own time.
Blue Jay Ballet
Dreamtime is a relay where thoughts have no say; they inwardly sway between yesterday, tomorrow, and today – they don’t go away.
Old windows don’t fray, new doors are on delay in different ways
Life’s calmness paddles across the bay Life’s quietness shares my causeway Life’s loneliness is here to stay – come what may
A gentle reminder that tomorrow still waits in the light — and so the sky carries me forward, come what may.
Feature Image Above: is a photo montage in which I have glued a ‘cut-out’ bird onto my amazing photo of the rainbow bridge between the trees.
A cold, draining day still offered one quiet wonder — a rainbow rising through the mist, inviting me to look beyond the familiar and follow a single thought into the blue.
Beyond the Rainbow Bridge
Here on the land’s highest ridge, between the tall towering trees, I’m inquisitively flying toward an enchanting rainbow bridge — which is mystically spanning our world’s misty atmosphere.
There above, in the deep blue sky, beyond the mesmerising arch, I hear the sun’s advisory sigh — “Let the grandeur of the universe be your guiding matriarch”
And for those who wish to wander a little further, here’s a song that carries the same quiet, sky‑bound grace.
A rainbow rose out of the valley this morning, and I imagined a bird hovering above it — watching the land quiver and the world slowly find its light. This poem grew from that quiet moment.
Above Rainbow Valley
Hovering above the tall, showy rainbow, I watch the quivering land below graciously and warmly shake hands with the phenomenon’s vertical strands.
Then I hear the valley’s enchanted trees majestically applaud with collective glee about such a surreal, peaceful sight — as the faltering world finally sees the light.
This poem found its evening companion in Matt Corby’s “All Fired Up” — a gentle echo from Rainbow Valley.
This lifestyle, philosophical poem was written in November 2022 and returns to a moment of small, steady bravery. Inspired by a lone snail crossing the wet bitumen — slow, deliberate, and determined — it reflects on purpose, persistence, and the quiet journeys we all make.
Steve the Snail. His Story
I wonder what the story was Why was Steve the Snail? Crossing the wet bitumen road There, by himself Bravely and slowly sliding along Determined to reach the other side
Steve’s path was a dangerous one But the purpose of his journey Remains locked away Within the privacy Of his ‘one-story’ home
Steve’s quiet journey reminds us how much courage lives in small, steady steps. Brandi Carlile’s The Story deepens that moment — a song for the hidden reasons and private paths we all carry within our own “one‑story” homes.
A quiet moment in the grass this morning — just me, my camera, and a lone mushroom in the light to guide me down memory lane — a soft umbrella for tired legs and fading recollections. This poem is the path I followed beneath its shelter.
I don’t often do this, but before the poem, I’ve added a song that’s always offered me a quiet kind of shelter. Dylan’s Shelter from the Storm feels like the right companion for this morning’s walk and the memories that followed.
Memory Lane
I’m slowly drifting back along a familiar winding track.
My old legs feel like used lard — I can’t travel another yard; the climb has been long and hard.
Please, can you give me shelter here, under your mushroom’s umbrella?
Let my weariness rest for a few moments while my memory lane’s missing residents struggle to recall who’s the President.
And as the day drifts on, this song carries my missing dreams down along memory lane.
In the cool, silvery hush between daytime calm and midnight cloud‑glow, tonight’s full moon drifts above, coinciding with the poem’s own shifting rhythms below.
Below the Coconut Palms
The world’s a sphere of disparity, like the incongruity between the becalmed daytime moon and the shiny orb’s cloudy midnight party — savouring dark-side ice cream with a silver spoon and sipping on milky star-dust until noon.
While down here on planet Earth, between Perth and Fort Worth, I perceive nothing is calm below the empty coconut palms.
Where wanderlust meets wonder — let this song carry you to the far places your heart remembers.