Beryl

Photo. 2.bp.blogspot.com
Beryl bounced once in the old days

rebounded for a second, third,

this final time upon the board

outstretching her muscular arms,

lengthening her growing body,

she flew upward and out into

the April air tucking her knees

to her chest tightly embracing

legs frequently tumbling over,

straightening her body at the

final moment the trajectory

curled toward the water in the

local swimming pool. Dr Davies watched

her gracefully enter the hole

she drilled deep in the blue aqua.

As coach, he suggested points to

consider on her climb to the

plank for her fourteenth encore.

The diver and the boy cadet

were fifteen years — separated

by maturing youthful grace.

The Contest

Authors Photo
The grudge match was settled from the church choir loft.
It had brewed for days — who made the better flier?

We required regular writing paper.
John folded his piece in half and length ways.

He took the right and left top corners
and folded them to the centreline

Increasing the angle he folded each side again
Until he had fashioned a dart with acute angles

He was satisfied when he gave a twist to the paper
and two wings shot out at right angles from the centrefold.

I chose to tear the paper on the fold
where the larger portion became a square

With deft origami moves I folded it in two
to make a rectangle half the original size.

Folding that into two smaller squares I flattened
Those and bought the outside corners to the centreline

Until it was the shape of a delta wing. I slipped the
discarded piece and slid it in between the delta folds

to make a tail. We stood, side by side
and threw our planes into the void.

John’s arrow shaped plane flew true — diagonally to the floor.
My ancient design flew up, dived sharply and gracefully

glided above the church pews toward the pulpit
where it came to complete rest. Mission accomplished.


Proof that the shortest space between two points,
pilots know, Is not always a straight line.

Canberra Bubble

Image John Tiedemann



A change in the air reminds me of twenty minutes lost,

alert to the waltz a virtuous murmuration of starlings gave.

A fabulous swirling smoke of beating, iridescent wings, and assuring cries.

The ubiquitous birds hopping after insects, rising as one mass from the lawn

that evening became a swoosh, a concert, a dance rising and falling, a twisting

and turning of synchronised swimming on the fluid

broiling air. A smoke curling above the dark tree-line their flight of fancy.



Currently, a vicious parliament rings to a decade of got-you’s.

The debate, a pixilated landscape of noise

swirling through digital platforms, flying upward

toward a vector of warbling publishers

to meet more misdirection and gaslighting.

Media gathers there, for debate curling over

and through sensibility, yet loses nothing

of the awful, fascinating, and ceaseless filibuster

of truth lived by half the population denied a roost,

swooping toward a light shining upon raw truth,

now a boisterous law of prevailing opinion circles Canberra .




A wrecking ball of justice might just smash the Canberra Bubble this term.


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Maxine Beneba Clarke and 3 others followRay Martin@Raymartin55This will be the first Australian Government brought down by women. Deservedly so. #auspol8:05 PM · Mar 10, 2021·Twitter for iPhone

A Day Playing By The Rules

Morning.

No fudging!

No Steelies!

Play for keeps!

A dusty rut marks the circle

where animated boys ring the orbit

for play, to cry,

“No Girls”

Egged on by allies, they shoot,

Aggies, Cat’s Eye, Milk glass,

hunkered down, fist on ground, 

a Lemonade Taw knocks out the Glassie,

et shot tour de force.

Penny marble,

threepence at most, 

all Spud needed

to fill his drawstring bag at lunchtime

when rules, ruled.

Afternoon.

Billy McMahon’s marble fell,

Marlene’s groom Ian

marched, measured, militarised,

fit to kill

fell on a foreign paddy,

loading artillery 

fifteen kilometres

from the action.

The town turned out 

when 3791583

marched home, alone

on a fancy gun carriage.

Rulers decreed — Regimental rules applied

Evening

All welcome.

A roulette marble drops,

winners play on,

launder money,

or lose the house.

The game played for a government’s budget has,

all white,

or ocean blue chips,

to cover 

the dollar,

or thousand, each represents

because no one needs a drawstring bag

in a cashless world.

Rules, rule in the house,

“not fit to hold a licence.”

Be Yourself

photo. Rattle Poetry Ekphrastic Challenge : Claire Ibarra Photography


Overhead a Rorschach test of brambles

Cast shadows across my pool.

There, fat goldfish beckoned the sky fall

and secret them in the amniotic fluid.

Birds, soaring over the pond,

returned to spear an exhausted fish,

floating belly up, as the in-waiting

swimming thing gasped its last palliative breath.

A fish net soon crisscrossed the pool

and stymied — natural selection.

Testily a bird rebelled. Wildly plucking at the screen

until, flying light, away it flew as

the horizon flagged the sun to rest.

The painter’s brush of lattice web

instructs viewers to remember

Fraser’s words, “Life is not meant to be easy.”

or, being yourself requires tactical grit.

Characters Imagined

ref: Gladstoneobserver.com.au
In five hundred languages
Ancestors
Dancing dreamtime song-lines
Taught wisdom
Millenniums before folk in
Powdered wigs
Sent men across seven seas
To plunder, rape, and murder
For a King
Claiming fauna, flora, soil
Enslaving all as labour.

1967
Marked its end?

Yesterday
In the lived experience
Of wary warriors
Characters imagined
In television studios
Knowing hatred is learnt
In burnt cork antics

Look in the mirror
And see your act
Is not the colour of
entertainment
And no excuse
Of ignorance
Will soothe the wounds
Caused to people
Of ancient grace
Ill from your cold lessons of bigotry

It was in the news months ago. Something about Netflix. I cannot fix it because my words are insufficient but we can.

A Pyramid Scheme

John Hopkins University 25/01/2021

One

Year on

This sober anniversary

Marks the first reported

Transfer of the mysterious disease,

Coronavirus. This unwelcome case was first reported

Here. Few paid any real attention initially.

“Don’t know about you”, said the Prime Minister.

“I am off to watch my Sharkies play football”

“I think you misunderstand the point of what we’re doing …”

Devoted Australian family man, James Kwan, died in Perth, February 28 2020.

The retired travel agent was a passenger on the ship, Diamond Princess

Quarantine Isolation policies, couldn’t stop Ruby Princess folk spreading the virus nation-wide

Intermittent border closures lead to crazy disruptions to daily lives for everyone

This crazy pattern has continued for 365 days. Of sorts, corralled, we mourn all dead.


My thoughts go to all the first responders (and those who act as the last responders) and to all caught in the Covid 19 pandemic.

To us all: wear a mask, wash your hands, practise social distancing, and help everyone stay safe.

An Ode To Lynette

Ref: Esty.com
I turned,
As passed me by
An unknown sight,
With flashing lights,
Painted contours,
Sirens Screaming,
Accents stilted,
A debutante queen
Draped in crinoline.
As black-tied men
Pretend to care
Importance springs
From formal wear.
When we all know
A line of print
Makes impressions
When words remain crisp,
Or seem confusing
If short twisted tones
Really haughtily give,
“She passed me by”,
Coquette Lynette
The perfect subject
From way back when
As opening lines —
Such nonsense sprang —
“I turned as passed
Me by”, and love
Was yet an alien.

I met with “H” again this week. He asked if I was still blogging. On learning I still type he recited these words he wrote about 15 year old Lynette 70 years ago.

“I turned as passed me by an unknown sight”.

He said he had started an Ode to Lynette and never finished it and asked I could. I have tried. Now friends it is your turn. This is my challenge. Can you finish the lines “H” started back in 1951? It can be your gift to give him another idea of how his lines should end.

“I turned as passed me by an unknown sight”

Print your poem on your page and send me your link in the reply box. It will make “H” young again to see what you can do.

Sanctus Seraphin

Image Author

How mellifluously did the fiddle play?
Bought in Horsham a century ago
From W Sack, Watchmaker of Firebrace Street,
Horsham, Importer of fine instruments.
Was R Blake, the buyer, a musical prodigy?
Or was the play to amuse oneself by
the fireside, on chilly winter nights?
The musicians choice, “Sanctus Seraphin”
A violin with a name famous for
All the attributes that soloists are
Continually hankering after.
I know it is cruel to mute all notes
Of such beautiful wooden craftsmanship
Yet musical shortcoming dooms it lie
In a black wooden box on soft green baize
Silent as the maple in a snow field.

This copy of a violin from the famous Italian maker of the sixteenth century has been silent since I bought it. (Our children have taken it out of its case and abused its sound, from time to time.) But mostly I admire the majesty of its unknown history, and the luthier’s skill.