Purple clouds
Posted: Wed Oct 24, 2012 5:45 pm
For the first time since I can't remember when there is a storm bird calling his distinctive cry in my garden. Will he call in the rain? Who knows - but legend says that if he is there along with the Kookaburra and the Kookaburra doesn't laugh then rain is coming and if perchance you see screeching cockatoos flying overhead then that is the number of days it will rain for. No cockies as yet but I am taking a coffee and sitting on the back steps with the girls keeping a sharp eye out.
PURPLE CLOUDS
There’s a pool of perfumed purple posies prettying up the park
and beneath the trees a carpet coloured blue,
and a drift of faded blossoms dropped along the streets in town
in varied shades of purple violet hue .
There's a puff of purple billowing above up near the clouds
and its interspersed with brightest green and gold -
a montage of colours garish that assails the eyes and ears
with the sound of roosting lorikeets so bold.
It’s the brightest time of year I find when Jacaranda’s bloom
along with wattle, putting on a visual feast.
They mark the end of winter drab and herald summer in.
They brighten up my daytime hours at least.
And high above my garden in a swaying song of spring
with lacy leaves of lime green, fresh and new
replacing old and yellowed ones that now lie as thick mulch
is my aged Jacaranda – my True Blue.
And now I hear a Storm Bird call – he’s been gone far too long
and rain is short round here – its dry as chips.
The air is thick with smoke from bush-fires burning round our town
the acrid stench is on my clothes and lips.
Perhaps the storm bird really is the harbinger of rain,
well fingers crossed - we’ll give him a fair shake
and let him do his stuff backed by the Kookaburra who
sits on my fence and no chuckle does make.
Maureen Clifford © 10/12
PURPLE CLOUDS
There’s a pool of perfumed purple posies prettying up the park
and beneath the trees a carpet coloured blue,
and a drift of faded blossoms dropped along the streets in town
in varied shades of purple violet hue .
There's a puff of purple billowing above up near the clouds
and its interspersed with brightest green and gold -
a montage of colours garish that assails the eyes and ears
with the sound of roosting lorikeets so bold.
It’s the brightest time of year I find when Jacaranda’s bloom
along with wattle, putting on a visual feast.
They mark the end of winter drab and herald summer in.
They brighten up my daytime hours at least.
And high above my garden in a swaying song of spring
with lacy leaves of lime green, fresh and new
replacing old and yellowed ones that now lie as thick mulch
is my aged Jacaranda – my True Blue.
And now I hear a Storm Bird call – he’s been gone far too long
and rain is short round here – its dry as chips.
The air is thick with smoke from bush-fires burning round our town
the acrid stench is on my clothes and lips.
Perhaps the storm bird really is the harbinger of rain,
well fingers crossed - we’ll give him a fair shake
and let him do his stuff backed by the Kookaburra who
sits on my fence and no chuckle does make.
Maureen Clifford © 10/12
we don't allow sick and dying puppies at my place we love them back to health 
