Mr S and I escaped the cold of Melbourne

To come here to Palm Cove. A three and a half hour plane trip up North. Leaving 8 deg C this morning  arriving in 28 deg C this afternoon.  We are away for 10 ten days. (Phoning my penguins each day to check on them).

Possibly won’t get to that ‘back story’ to Down By the River for a wee while…

The mountain is the view from our front door. The sail covered pool in the grounds at the back.

The mountain is the view from our front door. The sail covered pool in the grounds at the back.

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A vacation is having nothing to do and all day to do it in. ~Robert Orben

Winter not so wonderland

 

Coats soon will be discarded
They’ll accompany the scarves
Alone they’ll wait until the
Day they’re desired again
Winds will blow dragging winter
Cold to other hemispheres
The sun waits gathering strength
To burst through clouds
Her temperatures bringing warmth
We long for strappy sandals
With sand touched toes
Bare shoulders, the sun against our backs
The days that never end
Balmy wine kissed nights
Lying on sheets counting stars
Through open windows
This time will soon to be ours again
To close the cupboard on winter
Knowing that its taken residence
Elsewhere in the world

Copyright JMTacken 7.8.2014

Closing the door to winter

Tony at DVerse came up with a mathematical play for pieces .. I chose the syllable count. I hope this fits.

http://dversepoets.com/2013/08/15/form-for-all-mathematical-series/

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cold
grey
winter
leave me now
inevitable
 dissipate, bring me needed warmth
watching rain trickle down the window pane, I am lost
darkened skies, release your sun, set this grey mood free, through white clouds to bring serenity

Fibonnaci: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21. Syllable count

For the wonderful D’verse Poets Pub

from warmth to cold..holiday ends

blah grey..maybe if I shut my eyes
squint my face, turn three circles
anti-clockwise
the sun will shine again
..nope that didn’t work

blah rain…maybe if close one eye
twist my mouth to the right side
tilt my head towards the ceiling light
the sun will….
nope no joy there

blah undomestic bliss returns
…maybe if I grab the doona
shuffle my whole self underneath
it will disappear…
nope you guessed it
that didn’t work either

blah…the time when you
come home, unpack
put a load of washing
on, hang it up on horses (not real ones)
that would just be stupid

watch telly, look at each other, both
say “can we go back?” we know
we can’t, switch the station
YAY …. cricket…no not YAY at all
and daughter’s on my MAC
right where’s my IPad

The let down, the exhilaration of being away, having a holiday, viewing the world in a different light…only to return to the same furniture, the dishes not put away (thanks daughter #2) and the ..well the same ol shite. Ho hum holidays so good in one respect, so nasty in another. We left at 27deg C we returned to 100km winds, rain and Eskimo temperatures.
What more can I say (and yes the poor dog next door which belongs to the couples daughter and they have been minding him all winter) is outside on concrete and cries….that is stressing me more than being back.

Winter in Melbourne

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Photo Credit: Dandenong-Range-Photography.com.au

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As ice clears on my winters morn
heavy dew melts ‘tween the blades
that crackles under shoes
I smell the smoke of open fires
creeping from houses nestled in my
neighbourhood, circling from chimneys
into the atmosphere, vanishing
as it dances with the grey
I wonder if I will feel the sun again
my body warmed against the chills
the smell of hot scones freshly baked
plated on kitchen benches toasty
warmed from those that sit
conversations with hot tea

no snow, but cold enough in Melbourne
in a winter, frost that paints the windows
of cars parked along the streets
house windows, trickle panes with water
as cold clashes with the heat
and I rub my hands together to stop
the chill entering my bones
rugged in boots, coat and scarf
I walk the path, the biting air
nips my cheeks, breath exhales white
into the air, teeth chattering

the sun will come around once more
a few months, is all I have to bare
of waking in the darkness off to work
returning in the same stilled black
but I know, as sure as every season comes
longer lit days will arrive once more
where smiles are more readily seen on faces
venturing out of doors, ceasing the will
to hibernate as short beaked echnidas do
for we have no bears that hide in caves
as I wish at times I could

Bring out your dead – Fiction Prose

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Winter solstice

crisp air stung as darkness fell

lantern lit hung on burial spade

its job to dig

the pit

coffin raw in state bore no brass or copper handles

… rough sawn timber to conceal the dead

family mourned

waited for the driver dressed in black

with his horse to cart their dead away

…he the suffering witness to tears in grief

women on bended knees scream out

her name

– 1848 –

the sickness hit …bodies fell

prevent the germs from spreading

pulse weak hot bread on soles of feet

reaction none ….pronounced dead

burial must be quick

white and drained of colour

lain not on satin but threadbare cloth

they lifted her…. to hearse

gathered to walk the streets

listen to the iron wheels the sounds of hooves

her whispers could not be heard amongst their wails

I did not die I am alive

……she cried beside them

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150 words or less of Fiction For Angela Geoff  and

VisDare 21: Diverge

Thank you again for a wonderful photo prompt this week Angela.  Forgive the macabre. 113 words.

Winter is approaching – Prose

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stand centred
the inner circle
surrounded by
the ancient
my private sanctuary
I don my winter coat
of thoughts

wind lashes icy
against my cheek
razor blades
of a colder season
grey clouds multiply
play catch in the air
amid blackened skies
before night falls

I wait

inhale secrets
I beckon creatures
timbers crack
bristled whispers
the woodland starts
to breathe
creatures nocturnal
step cautiously
from daylit homes

the distance
the pack howls
with throats
stretched tight
guttural baying
to the opaque moon

footsteps soft on
moistened moss
quenching thirsts
at river beds
insects wary scurry
from the pray
the dark is coming

I am not afraid

darkness penetrates
I am a kindred spirit
where I stand
connect me with the
sounds of living on
this night

winter hard as stone
call forth my muse
from summer past
inspiration drawn

my muse awakes

my breath draws in
no longer does she
sleep within

Train Station

pitch darkness obscures
the tracks
iron circles
rotate
halt

windows misty
condensation
dark & chilled
winters night
bustling platform
people
scurry

collars high
buckled coats
homeward bound to hearth
warmth cosy lamplit rooms
whistle blows
moths flicker
to the lights

newspapers dance
on impervious floors
strangers touched
electric
tingles

shoulder brushed shoulder
I walked five steps
turned
you did the same
instant
attraction
amongst the strangers
going home

boarding
leaving
lives of their own duties forgotten
a stare unbroken
veiled fog
you were gone
we were drawn
for mere moments
as moths to the light

I haven’t written for a few days and I am not working tomorrow, so please indulge me while I take advantage of my relaxed state to write a post or two… the above was in my head for 2 days…I had to release it before I could go on.

‘Tween Winter and Summer Spring Sings Hello

candied orange peel toffee apple red
colours drift to ground casting autumn aside

gloom of winter darkened days
scattered shadows dissipate
frozen morns forgotten goodbye to
nights crispiness as it migrates
for another year

a new season has begun swaying harmony
blossom creaminess caresses the perfumed
breeze floating downwards laying natures carpet
beneath my feet soft blades invite themselves
between my toes spring shows her calling card

scented flowers rainbow from the earth
accompany shy buds eager to display confidence
trees dressed in petalled outfits snuggle leaves
to waken
light of spring holds till late no shadowy clouds spoil
and daffodil trumpets herald the sun to

vibrantly dance

romance smiling faces sun kissed lovers
stroll energised hand in hand

bees buzz
cats purring stretch lazily in sunny alcoves
eggs crack new born feathers break out

to spread their wetted wings
foals unsteady feet
greet the world in warmth on lush and
grassy knolls whilst
deers bend to nuzzle nose of young
hidden amongst forest verdurous
Spring permeating..perfumed..perfection

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Open and welcome critique please

Written for http://dversepoets.com/2013/04/20/poetics-spring/

Picture it and Write – I am blind but still I see

From Picture it & Write gallery   pictureitandwrite2copy-1  the pic this week is stunning! touch-reflection-creative-writing-prompt

This week I shall continue with the original theme with my own version from a post I wrote some time back ( you shall find in Poetry and Prose) ‎which I have altered slightly.  I have used a basic rhyming pattern. I hope it is worthy. My entry is in bold black.

My fingertips reflect the world back to me. What I cannot see, I feel, smell, taste, and hear. I feel shadows as I reach for the sun and smell the coming weather on the wind. I’ve never felt deprived of sight even though I’m blind, but sometimes my fingers have a mind of their own. At first, I felt nothing. There would be periods of my day missing; people actually accused me of drawing. At first I didn’t believe them, now I’m awake when I draw. Despite feeling shoved to the back while something else controls my movement, there’s a wave of serenity that keeps me calm. Am I crazy, or just weak? Everyone else has their magic under control.

I hold tulips as they start to unfold, hold the wedding ring and imagine what’s gold.
lift my face to the clouds that I’m told drift through the sky,  sadly miss the expressions of those that walk by
touch the leaves that curl brittle on trees, listen to buzzing from the hive made from bees
Fingers embrace spider webs lacy and glossy, hear as a mother shouts, finger pointed and bossy
imagine the stars on warm summer nights, though never to witness them sit in the sky
jump in the crest of the waves at the beach, set my goals high for things I can reach
Cannot see faces of those that smile wide, or the glow and the love on the face of a bride
can hug all the animals four legged or two, won’t see the lovers face that bids me adieu
painting butterfly wings coloured and frail, touch my words that are penned in braille
Visualise the flight of a woodland hawk, or the joy I would feel to see my child walk
I can feel shiny, the dull, old and the new, wet my fingers on blades in first morning dew
I grasp hold of tree trunks standing tall in the forests, run my fingers across sculptures and paintings of artists
I wish to see happiness in the faces of lovers, or stare into eyes of lonely street beggars
love I would feel sighting a newly born babe, I cannot have this, there is no escape
let me see those who share wealth with the poor, show me the sadness of those who yearn more
I feel the sunshine on a hot summers day, I feel the winter snow, slowly drifting away
I see things that the sighted do not see, is it a gift or simply just me…