H'work for w/e 28.10.13 - WAIT-A-WHILE
Posted: Mon Oct 14, 2013 3:25 pm
Wait – a – while.
Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet
The cloying heat was stifling – stealing the small birds from flight.
Listless, they wait on stark skeletal bough
of blackened ironbark – with their tiny beaks all opened wide.
Small wings held out – seeking relief somehow.
Scattered mnemonic glitter. Captured rainbows from the sun
that flashed on boughs partly consumed by fire.
Each prism softly shaded – a kaleidoscope of colour
caught in draped dew droplets dangling on wire
Droughted, dry and dusty, there was little hope of rain
and dew almost the sole source of moisture
for butterflies that clustered – their sheer tracery of wings
folded, like a Nuns wimple in cloister .
Totally lacking interest the Southern Cross blades moved slow,
directionless and apathetic in the heat.
Just the merest flow of water trickled into tanks below
and none there were who’d call the water sweet.
And in the scattered shadow old man goanna took ease
ignoring ants in columns running free.
The whole place was on ‘ go slow time’ and all waited for rain
they knew that it would come eventually.
Haiku
returning birds
with primordial instinct
seek summer warmth
or
seeking summer warmth
migrating birds use instinct
primordial
Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet
The cloying heat was stifling – stealing the small birds from flight.
Listless, they wait on stark skeletal bough
of blackened ironbark – with their tiny beaks all opened wide.
Small wings held out – seeking relief somehow.
Scattered mnemonic glitter. Captured rainbows from the sun
that flashed on boughs partly consumed by fire.
Each prism softly shaded – a kaleidoscope of colour
caught in draped dew droplets dangling on wire
Droughted, dry and dusty, there was little hope of rain
and dew almost the sole source of moisture
for butterflies that clustered – their sheer tracery of wings
folded, like a Nuns wimple in cloister .
Totally lacking interest the Southern Cross blades moved slow,
directionless and apathetic in the heat.
Just the merest flow of water trickled into tanks below
and none there were who’d call the water sweet.
And in the scattered shadow old man goanna took ease
ignoring ants in columns running free.
The whole place was on ‘ go slow time’ and all waited for rain
they knew that it would come eventually.
Haiku
returning birds
with primordial instinct
seek summer warmth
or
seeking summer warmth
migrating birds use instinct
primordial
