The things you don't see



At every door there stands
A weeping sentinel.
At most, they are not seen
At some, their tears don't shine
But there stands, at every door
A weeping sentinel.

Mostly happy to hide,
retreating
into shade and shadows
amongst the leaves of exotic
trees, which despite
their roots, have travelled
lands and homes, have seen
that every door there stands
A weeping sentinel.

There are sights the Weeping
Sentinel sees, details -
Glimpses often missed by
those who pass their frontiers
For fleeting moments that exist
Solely on the thresholds
Of the Weeping sentinel.

A penchant for poetry


One might have noticed by now, that I am quite partial to a bit of verse. Recently, I grabbed a couple of op shop bargains in the poetry department and the new additions prompted me to sit back and look at my lovely little collection. I did of course follow this perusal with some actual reading. This gorgeous little Collins "Poems of Action" provided quite a varied bunch; from 'Never heard of him" to "Oh I love this one" to the all important "Well, I really ought to read that one." I am coming to realise how much I really do love books, maybe when I grow up I will own an emporium that houses a book shop, tea house and florist; all in one!
What shall I call it? ....

Urban Verse

This is nearly as quiet as the
city gets ... in daylight.
The slight haze of summer
mornings floating into autumn's
ochre arms.
Punctured and fractured by the
optimistic white light of the sun.
My still shower-warm thighs
shocked in bar like formation
by bitter Victorian era green.
I sit faced by a comfy
red brick station house
now splattered in the paraphernalia
and mechanics
of a modern day system.

Sorry I couldn't find you.

Do you cry when the trees bleed?
And dance with the willow when he sweeps you away?




When Lady Autumn's giant asters have shrunken
To a skeletal army, Where do you go?



















And have you seen the world among the lichens?
Of brittle minted towers and curling cradles, silent.




















The lambs'-ears grip the dew, as if to give
Their stout woolens a hint of the jewelled



And today I found a cavernous forest
Secreted away under the fleshy tops of fungi ...




But where were you?

Today I Hunted Ivy

Today I hunted for ivy
I pursued ivy ...
to make a heart.

I prowled the bylanes
and alleyways dark
in their autumnal crisp.

Icy puddle obstacles
trapped among the cobbles
grey, slate and blue.

In this quest,
few eyes glimpsed
my whispered passing.

Diversions arose
in the details of a
lost and rusting world.

Then all too soon,
Treasure! Cascades
of forest stars ... unwanted.