Ward Park is where I  sit
Sheltered from this Summer heat in Spring
(Visions of McCubbin's wife and I "On The Wallaby Track").
In a corner of this inner-city bush
Theraputic and kind

A silence of sorts...

Relaxation of the mind
As my back arrogantly shuns
The noise of automobiles
On the move up and down Devonshire Street;
 their destinations work or play.

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Under the glow of the park bench light
Between the high-rise apartment blocks
I sit at a vacant table.
My home is like an oven
The night's silence momentarily broken
By a distant siren, a dog's bark on one of the balconies
From another, a drunken plea for 'quiet!'

With the silence-words begin to play on one's mind
Midnight to midnight
Sentences to be ( Read more... )

                                                                    
Outside the inner-city cafe
He sits alone at his favourite table
With cigarette in hand, he's happy and content
Exhaled smoke dispersed into
A Spring evening.

Another  thought arises as he ponders
Over his past, present, future,
As he patiently waits for his lukewarm
Cup of (three dollar ( Read more... )

Trees talk
               But not in tongues
           These great prophets of the forest 
                 Translator’s of Phoebus’s word.
             Like a blind man reads Braille                                 
                                Their leaves flutter lightly

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                     In a sea of sand and scorching heat 
                              Stands the ironwood                                                    
        A shaded santuary, an oasis of fertile and sheltered habitat
               that live in harmony with an array of plants
                        Beneficial to the wildlife.

Decorated at ( Read more... )

Guided by the Morning Star
Four erubscent pink exotic clouds
hung upon nothingness in a transparent blue
As a courteous breeze humbled to silence
Patiently waits for Phoebus to arise
Above the Eastern horizon

His arms outstretched; cast over and beyond
  The Bondi-Junction skyline.
One's heart brightened by the warmth of his finger-tips,
  and to ( Read more... )

Blues' days are a parallel to his nights

Seven days a week-twelve months of every year...alone.

Words off fantasy unintelligible to imaginary friends

Sentences rebound rapidly off his lounge walls

To tango and waltz with the stream of cigarette smoke

Only to evaporate into the invisible.

Around his ( Read more... )

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          The archipelagic view had
                Been sculptured by time
                  Its formless beauty invisible

To the untrained eye of 
                     knowledge and understanding
                            Yet, to the Caretaker its
                                 An appreciation
           ( Read more... )

 Crisp winter air suspended amidst a new dawn
Patiently a waits to greet the sun as it rises above the Eastern horizon
Nature's intercourse; a birth to another morn
While the sea; the approver, sparkles to all.

Like naked lovers explore; so sand and shingle shift
Beyond the surf a pod of dolphins breakfast in its glow
Echoed movements to the sounds ( Read more... )