Over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word Pookie. Please visit their fabulous site by clicking on >> Here. “Pookie” is a common euphemism for something cute. Well, I suppose my ‘strange orange rocks’ or my ‘smiling moon’ could be cute.
Don’t Blame the Moon
I see strange orange rocks Among the fallen branches and leaves Discerningly, time reminds me They were not there yesterday
Enquiringly, I look up to the sky And I see the moon smiling at me As if to say, “Don’t blame me”
During early February, my stunning Day Lily begins to bloom, which nostalgically coincides with my father’s birthday week. A potted perennial that I rescued from my dear departed parent’s homestead. The lilies always grace my garden in February as nature’s tribute to Dad, and today’s revised poem was originally written in February 2017, when me and Dad’s day lily moved into my villa, “Shangri La” …
Day Lily and Love (Revised)
Upon my pillow, I sleep Good morning, I do peek From the cushion of my dreams To my garden’s awakening beams Blushing red hues, oh so bright You bloom during the night
And after cuddling the dew You open up your scenic view Flowering, standing proud, and steep Perfection at my feet A glorious Lily, like the wings of a dove And by sunlight, you air your love
Duet Singing. Magpie-larks are one of the 200-odd species of birds around the world that are known to sing in duets. Each partner produces about one note a second, but a half-second apart, so humans find it difficult to tell that there are actually two birds singing, not one.
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Wednesday Challenge is the word Whimsical. Please visit their fabulous site by clicking on >> Here.
Mudlarks Are Whimsical Duet Singers
The Magpie Lark is Unique to Australia A small singing bird With striking black and white plumes Our sopranos of the sky
Walking from one shady spot To the next shady spot Via the street’s shopfront verandahs We arrive at our favourite Cafe Where the staff gives us a welcoming wave
Outside, the blazing sun is wickedly hot Inside, beneath the fan, in a shady spot The open porch area remains hot Although a caressing sea breeze Is beginning to cool our lot
Hello, dear readers and followers. As you might know, I stopped producing my “Tullawalla Booklets” at # 31 because that was the house number of our family’s Tullawalla Homestead. But the booklet formats are a superb way for me to catalogue the vast number of poems I produce and as the saying goes “I Am Turning Another Page”. Here I have begun a new series of poem booklets, called “Shangri La” which is the name of my little Villa, and is my piece of “earthly paradise, a retreat from the pressures of modern civilization”. I now have “1901” Poems filed in these booklet formats!! (on my bookshelf I have “The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, which contains 1775 poems … when I first started writing poems, I never envisaged that I would produce so many poems)
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Colour Challenge for February is Green. To visit their fabulous site, please click on >> Here. Hmmm, no green words in my poem, but there was a showy “Green” succulent plant under the cafe’s verandah
“We Were the Last Mohicans”
Saturday at the Cafe It’s not as hot as Helios But the mid-summer sun Is flexing his Solar Plexus I’m sweating And Frankie is panting
The open verandah is shady With an occasional zephyr Wafting over our table Refreshing enough To keep us comfortable Pleasant enough To allow me the energy To write these casual words
Mid-afternoon The cafe’s patrons Are gradually departing And we are the last Mohicans
Today’s Throwback Friday poem is from January 2021, and it was a piece that I had forgotten about, so it was a pleasant surprise to find the poem while searching my files this morning.
Playing Cards
To many questions And I do not have the answers I am running out of rhyme Is it time? To go back to school Me, a forgetful old fool Or, I could stay here Wait for the anteater to cheer Sit in my garden courtyard Avoid soul searching and just play cards With Oscar the wise old owl And Phillip the penguin, he’s my pal
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 