MoP 29: Waiting at the Station


Waiting at the station
The last train from Clarkefield
is thirty minutes late
but the night is mild
and clear
we are alone
in the empty carpark
we watch a wild cat
as it watches us
this pub-two-houses-and-an-auto-wrecker hamlet
must be holding its breath
as land is released to developers
and the ghosts of populations past
stir and rumble

MoP 28: Storm Warnings


Storm Warnings
The barometer tells it
so does BOM
in colour charts
and temperatures
but the best, most reliable forecast
is from the dog
who sits under my desk
and will not move unless I do
down comes the rain
flash the lightning blinds
boom the thunder cracks
I can tell when it’s done
because she relaxes
and releases something deadly
from the underdesk

MoP 27: On the Road


On the Road
As I was going to market
upon a sunshine day,
I met a horse as fine
as any was fed on hay.
This horse was wide in front.
This horse was wide in rear.
This horse was o-so very tall
I could couldn’t see her ears
Her mane was black, her tail was too
her coat, it blackly glistened.
Her hoofsteps were so very quiet
but you’d hear them if you listened.
I wished that I could ride a while
upon her tall, strong back.
That dream was hardly thought
when she vanished up the track.
Her gallop was like purring,
her tail flew high behind her.
I turned and followed as I could,
determined now to find her.
I never got to market.
I never found that dazzling mare,
but I remember every day
what luck to see her there.

MoP 26: Melbourne

Melbourne
 I love Melbourne, but the water in the bay varies only by 4 degrees winter to summer. (14- 18 C I think)

Beach feet
Hop. Ouch! Hop. Hot!
Why is it quite so far
from the towel to the water’s lap?
Ah! Cool toes
Beach feet
shiver, br-r
bursting from the ocean
race from water’s edge to the towel
Ah! Warm toes
Beach feet
race there and back
keep moving fast, faster
in the water, out and back
summer fun.

MoP 25: Somehow I have never imagined. A Found Poem


Somehow I Have Never Imagined: A Found Poem
I’m ranting ahead of time.
I am already becoming annoyed
about the drivers who are going to blind me
because they didn’t feel the need to clean off their cars.
(And, I haven’t even driven anywhere this storm!)
Three options:
clean off your car prior to driving,
hire someone to clean it off for you, or
DON’T DRIVE!

Dressmaker Costume Exhibition at Barwon Park Mansion

Sue L and I took ourselves on an excursion last fine Wednesday. Knowing it was going to be taxing, we began with lunch. Fortunately, none of the occupants rang the bells while we were there. They must have already lunched.

First stop, a cuddle with a footballer. Why wouldn’t you choose to snuggle by the one with eyes and a face?

Love this light. Not sure about the wiring …

The hats were displayed like in a florists. I recall my grandmother and her hats. She lived in the countryside where some of the film was shot. I wonder what she would have made of it? 
 

  

The work in these was exquisite. Photography is ordinary as the light was low and no flash allowed, but still worth capturing.

Love the ‘attitude’ of this pair, also the colour.

This frock was for me one of the most amazing. I don’t mean that it was my favourite, just that it was so striking, just like a frillneck lizard display.

All that hand beading deserves a look

My Nana, my other nana, dressed like this. Gorgeous.

Hand-printed spots. Love. And the manequin is fabulous. 

Sooo many beads.

The resourcefulness and art of spiders.

Blossum bee.

 
 Hitching hook

I’m happy turning a tap …

Sue and I were both revisiting time in shearing sheds.

Holding down the stump?

Now, that’s a blue sky. Okay, so we were almost the last to leave. Even the tea ladies had gone. 
It’s a fabulous exhibition, beautifully staged in an amazing house. Well worth a little trip down the highway …