Saturday, 21 January 2017

On Virgin Australia

Small squares of green, like patchwork quilt
Hairline-crack roads, raw land, unbuilt
Treeless, burnt dry, harsh, unknown
Which native animals call home.

Uranium-rich and opal-mined
The Outback cannot be defined
With temperatures right off the charts
It tests the mettle of stout hearts.

Salt flats and river beds now dry;
Early settlers, unprepared would die
Their European skin too pale
Their gold rush dreams just worthless shale...

Some beer-froth clouds obscure the view
Scant protection for the few
Who, despite the lure of urban living
Have chosen this world unforgiving...

(from Adelaide to Brisbane)

(c) Poet in the woods 2017




Monday, 16 January 2017

A Hat like Alice!

The Mad Hatter would be happy here
Wide-brimmed creations everywhere
Some hatbands have a brilliant hue
Some perch precariously, worn through.

All those I meet have quite a range
Of headgear, awkward to arrange
In hallways where they hibernate
Or car back seat, in battered state.

The sun’s destructive force is such
That a hat is not a fashion touch
But a must-have in the summer shine
When skin cancer is a threat - big time.

Or the Outback style in burnished hide
Sometimes with fly net trimmed and wide
Yet there is one I’ve yet to see
With a ring of corks all floating free!

(c) Poet in the woods 2017


Sunday, 15 January 2017

Thomas - at the Blackwood Garden Centre

Mini waterfall, cute gnome and bird
- In bright metallic splendour - beam
Amid the blooms, while people herd
In garden centre - heat extreme…

Wee Thomas wields his shopping trolley
Down narrow pathways edged with plants
“Don’t touch the ferns or you’ll be sorry!”
His steering skills are not advanced.

A sweet perfume wafts on the breeze
Scarlet and purple catch the eye
Pre-aged pots sport lemon trees
Fertilizer sacks stacked high.

While Dad queues up to buy a hose
My charge is eager to explore
He stops to sniff a big red rose
Which peers out from the stone-flagged floor.

It’s hard to keep him in my sight
As he’s off again down leafy aisle
Both hands on the trolley tight
Beguiling shoppers with his smile!

(c) Poet in the woods 2017




Thursday, 12 January 2017

Unanswered

What’s the aim? Why are we here?
Growing older year by year…
Memories flicker and get lost
Our futures tinged with careful frost.

What is it all about, I ask
Just an endless routine task
With kids and mortgages to pay
A myriad shades of salted grey?

The poet voices hidden fears
Deep inner feelings, life’s arrears
Regrets and dreams and ‘what if’ thoughts
Rows of crosses, empty noughts.

Yet underneath, with pulse beat strong
We humans somehow learn the song
Lilting, poignant, bitter sweet
A refrain new generations seek…

(c) Poet in the woods 2017



Tuesday, 10 January 2017

A Glimpse of the ABC

On the ABC - the national station
News tends to thrive on quick sensation:
An unchecked, dangerous bush fire
Or political corruption dire…

Protesters, riots, pension rights
Sport in all its forms, street fights
Stocks and shares that escalate
Or plummet – cause of fierce debate.

But what of the world that lies outside?
Foreign news is thin; I’ve tried
To understand the Aussie psyche
In depth is not their thing, by Crikey!

Snippets of Donald and Obama
Then focus on a Sydney drama
Europe’s snowfalls make the news
Then it’s back to heatwave views…

Good stories rarely make the grade
So in a way I feel betrayed
With violent footage on the screen
Australia comes across as mean!

There’s a disconnect, though satellite
Supplies Big Island day and night
Hence it seems to me “Australia Fair”
Belies its anthem, so beware!

(c) Poet in the woods 2017





ABC = Australian Broadcasting Corporation

Saturday, 7 January 2017

Thomas - at Three!

Time passes and wee Thomas grows
So fast, he often needs new clothes
Provided by his savvy Mum
With colour green his number one!

Keen to chat and learn new words
Repetition frequently occurs
Now knee-high, he gives orders pert
We take it in good part, alert -

To the marvellous progress that he makes
For sure this lad has what it takes
At three, his brain kicks into place -
Of Babe and Toddler – not a trace.

Our mini-man reveals his mettle
Surprised when Dad tells him to ‘settle’
New challenges, new food, new ways
It’s ‘full on’ at this learning stage.

The whole world and its treasures lie
Within his grasp, he’s keen to try;
Now looms a daunting task ahead
Potty training, which all parents dread.

An essential skill which must be taught
It’s hit or miss, so days are fraught
But well worth the effort, Heaven knows
As who wants to wander in wet clothes?

(c) Poet in the woods 2017



Wednesday, 4 January 2017

Snapshot on the Belair Line

The “Red Hen” is the local train
Twin carriages weave through the plain
Quite an interesting ride
In summer clothes – hats worn inside!

Just perfect for the ‘grey’ brigade:
What genteel folk in Adelaide!
All stations on the Belair line
In dappled sunlight – lost in time...

Few to and fro at every station
Australia - such an empty Nation
Eucalypts on hilly heights
Level crossings – flashing lights...

Spare seats are legion on these trains
Strong wafts of diesel, dusty panes
Harsh, arid landscape, straw-like grass
Hiding fences as we pass.

Red gums convey a frontier feel
No traffic on broad roads – surreal
The tracks are rusty – overgrown
Yet graffiti mean we’re not alone...

(c) Poet in the woods 2017