9 July 2011

July stones: poems and observations

Joining the river of stones challenge for July 2011


31 July
Tubular orange blooms drape the white stucco wall in a fluorescent curtain, reminding me of the 1970s.

30 July
A kookaburra perches on top of the spindly pole of the sewer vent. Its chilly plumage, a feathery plug for the rising warm fetid air.

29 July
A little more daylight
a little less night
I walk a little further
Spring is in my step.

28 July
Tossed toe-nail clipping
New moon imprinted
On the morning sky.

27 July
Eyes lock on glowing screens,
fingers tap and thumb at
mute conversations.
I seek a simple smile
on the bus ride home.

Ibis glide in graceful arcs to join the night roost; their honking greetings rise above the roar of the traffic below.

25 July
The delicate pinks and greys of the Galah are brushed across the canvas of rainclouds at sunset.

24 July
Two rainbow lorikeets, like harlequin vultures, perch atop the limp form of a ursurping Mynah bird.

23 July
Draped over my sleeping waist
darting tongue seeking my ear
little foxy dog greets the day.

22 July
Umbrella carcass
skin flayed, ribs exposed
drowned in the deluge
flaws unforgiven.

21 July
There is no shelter. Water gushes through rusty street awnings. Buses dump drenching waves. Rivers run under my sodden feet.

20 July
Pigeons paddle
in a violet puddle
beneath a neon sign.

19 July
The bus crawls slippery streets, jostling its bellyful, forcing an intimacy with wet wool, long hours and a sour hint of urine.

18 July
A suspended eerie stillness
as muddy clouds amass
in a sinister armada
has me scurrying for home.

17 July
Two anxious lads, caught
like roos in headlights
as the smell of pot
escapes their furtive lair,
sweetly wafts my way.

16 July
The city is smudged,
the horizon furry
as mould on old bread.
A glass pane divides
that drizzly softness
from my jagged self.

15 July
A flying fox hangs
arrested grimace
on the overhead wires.

14 July
Fierce-faced red wattlebirds fend off interlopers, desperate to raise their chicks before the Spring cuckoos arrive.

13 July
The morning sun burns a white-cold halo where Centrepoint tower's needle has punctured earth's grey quilted skin.

12 July
Wire-cloaked double As
of Sydney Anzac Bridge
stand poised and proud before
evening's orange spotlight
until day's curtain close.

11 July

Pink and grey galahs strut unconcerned by the busy roadside, plucking at roots from the verge, ignoring the intruders in their domain.

10 July
A dainty black cat, bell at its neck, flattens at my cajoling to slither down the gutter drain. Someone's princess, out for the night.

9 July
From the blanket nest
twitches and whimpers
of giant adventures.
Secure in his lair:
my little foxy.

8 July
A wattlebird guards a Callistemon's sweet ruby brushes. Its hoarse scold and spitfire tactics send an interloper tumbling towards me.

7 July
Scorpio stretches herself across the canopy, smaller stars hiding from unseen turmoil. I ponder the orange dying star on her back.

6 July
The wind, gusty and irritable, finally settles at dusk to silent sleep. Leaves cluster, arrested by gutter and tyre.

5 July
The dogs diligently search the garden perimeter for rats as a lone cricket calls its 3-syllables into the chilled night air.

4 July
A tidy line of ibis, brushed with morning gold, slowly traverses a sky left bare by the recent crimson swirl of rainbow lorikeets.

3 July
All is shrouded in mist as we descend. Suddenly the snaking road appears in the headlights, luminous gums leaning toward the intrusion.

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