Busy Bee and Evocative

I receive heart-warming responses from some of you for my poetry, so here are a couple more. I may have posted ‘Evocative’ before; please forgive me if that’s so. It’s one of my favourite poems and one that I hope you will all enjoy. Please let me know if my images stir your memory.

If you’re not a ‘Busy Bee’ yourself (I’m certainly not one these days) I’m sure you will recognise a friend who is, in this poem. Please pass it on to them with love and appreciation; where would we be without them?

BUSY BEE

She buzzes about

ever so busy

my busy bee

darting from daisies

to dahlias and dianthus

dusting them all

with pernicketiness.

Collecting pollen

and flicking it in flowers,

where would my garden be

without her?

EVOCATIVE

Sweaty armpits, old gym shoes,

potatoes rotting in a cupboard,

dirty nappies, pig manure,

a drunk, lolling in his vomit.

Burning tyres, gutted homes,

flames roaring through the bush.

Fried onions, vanilla beans,

bacon and toast and percolating coffee.

Leather seats in a new car,

rain on parched earth,

a baby, fresh from the bath.

Eucalypt leaves on a wet day in London.

Yardley perfume that granny used,

sweet peas, picked from a garden.

Old spice after-shave,

the coat you always wore.

York England 2016: Day Two

Our travel editor for the West Australian newspaper, Stephen Scourfield, wrote about touring around England in last Saturday’s travel lift-out. I feel that I could qualify for having similar tales published, particularly with all that we saw and did in York last year.

Stephen even mentioned the squirrels – see the little fellow that we met, along with pigeons (or are they doves? I never know the difference.

One of the things I love about England is the abundance of parks and the fact that they are well cared for, with well-placed trees and clusters of shrubs and flowers, especially when you arrive in spring, as we did.

The Museum Gardens are situated about two minutes walk from our accommodation and are the most direct route to the centre of town, so, whenever possible (the gates are closed every night) we walked through it, coming out at Museum St on the other side.

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Spring in the Hills

Spring is here again, and my camera has been busy, so today, instead of York in England, I have to write about my garden in Glen Forrest.

The view from my bedroom, into a private courtyard which is now finished, is already a delight and in a few weeks, when everything blossoms, it will be heavenly. From my study, where I write these blog posts as well as my short stories, poems and the latest novel (about halfway there), I am inspired by nature, which often includes a friendly goanna and lots of birds.

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Friends In My Garden: Hyacinth and Peony

Life has been hectic for the last few weeks, hence my lack of postings on this site. I am keen to return to the travel tales from England but for today, I hope to please those of you who enjoy my poems, especially those from my first book, ‘Friends In My Garden.’

Hyacinth was written for a friend who lost her daughter in tragic circumstances. It was the kind of situation from which a mother would never totally recover but this lady was/is always graceful and composed. Whenever I read this poem I think of her with love and admiration.

If you know someone who bravely bares a tragic loss, you might like to share this poem with them.

HYACINTH

Hyacinth is a fragile flower

sometimes seeming aloof

in her need for seclusion.

The colours of her petals change

from purple on the sad days

to whitely unobtrusive

when she’s hiding from the world

or palest blue

in times of her remembering.

For the memory and the loss

will always remain

despite her efforts to hide the pain.

The image she presents

of calmness and restraint

is it a facade?

I think I hear her crying

in the emptiness of night

when she’s alone with her sorrow.

She’s determined to not falter

but I should remember

to tend more often

and with more care

my saddened, delicate hyacinth.

Peony was written for another brave lady. Sadly she didn’t manage to overcome cancer, but she always looked elegant and despite her condition, she was determined to live life to the full. I only really had one meeting with her but was so impressed that I sat down as soon as she left and composed this poem in her honour.

‘Friends In My Garden’ was published in 1995. Sadly, my Peony died about a year later, but I still think of her. It’s a sad poem, but I wanted to express my admiration for her determination and for the joy she radiated, despite the suffering she must have endured. I hope that my words give comfort and encouragement to others who are facing serious illness.

PEONY

This morning there appeared

a flower I’ve not seen before,

a peony.

The climate here is harsh

for so delicate a plant

but to see her blooming

you’d not be aware

of her struggle for survival.

Elated,

blossoms in profusion,

the image she presents.

I know she lost her petals

felt her trunk grow weak

but sun gave her warmth

rain fell softly on her leaves

the one who cares

for flowers and trees

nourished her with love

and hence

today

she came to grace my garden.

UK 2016: Chelsea Flower Show

When planning our cruise down the Dalmatian Coast and parts of Italy, I allowed for a few days in Paris, (which I hope you have enjoyed reading about) but we had to be in England in time for the Chelsea Flower Show. I think this was my fifth visit and it was my sister’s second, but it’s always different, always a day of bliss for me and for any gardeners from anywhere in the world. Susanne and I took over a thousand photos each, so I’ll have to do this in sections, selecting a few of my favourites to share with you.

Brilliant colour was the first thing that wowed us as we entered the huge tent full of prize winning entries. Aren’t these stunning?

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Friends In My Garden: Oak and A Time For Tears

The following poems were written for a man I once thought was the centre of my universe. It’s almost nineteen years since I shed those tears and I’ve found new, strong and lasting love. This post is for those of you who think that your life ends with the loss of one love. It changes and you change but it can get better. You just have to pick up the pieces (probably best to discard the not so good ones) and face life again. As usual, please pass one or both of these on to anyone you think might like to read it/them.

OAK

Rooted firmly in the ground

my oak

is tall and strong

protecting creatures

that snuggle into his trunk

and hide in his leaves.

Wide he spreads his branches

and so high

his canopy is sometimes in the clouds.

I sit in his shade

and lean on him.

His bigness can be overwhelming,

too long in his shadow

I shrink and fade

then I need to walk in the sun

content

secure

knowing he is there

in the centre of my garden.

A TIME FOR TEARS

Flowing like a waterfall

these tears I shed for you.

At night I wake to wrenching sobs

my pillow wet

my soul bereft;

I want to sleep forever.

Do you cry too?

Does guilt grip you with remorse

for leaving me

for what you too have lost?

Perhaps one day

my heart will mend

my tears no longer fall.

One day I might not

think of you with sadness

but after forty years

I know there’ll never come a time

when I can say

‘I don’t love you anymore.’

Friends In My Garden: Zinnia

When I was writing poems for my book, ‘Friends In My Garden,’ I had a few young female friends for whom this one was suitable. The sort of people who never seem to tire and who make you laugh whenever you are with them. I’m sure you all know and love someone like my

Zinnia

Exuberant is Zinnia

full of zest and vigour

radiating merriment

she paints a smile on passing lips

this zippy zany flower.

Irises in My Garden

Irises fill me with joy when their vibrant blues, p1080468-640x355 purples, lemons and whites burst forth outside my windows. I have to grab the camera and snap away, almost as if I fear that they will disappear if I don’t capture their beauty immediately.

This gorgeous p1080455-640x370 display comes from the bulbs that I almost tossed in the bin. Last year they produced so few flowers that I thought they were past their use by date and I did discard most of them. Then I found these, in a cardboard box in the garage – stored through the heat of summer, with no protection, surely useless, I thought. This bed, in front of my lounge room, needed something to fill the space where I removed a few straggly shrubs, so, rather than toss them in the bin, I tossed them in the ground.

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Spring Has Sprung in the Hills

'She always wears a hat.' The sculpture of me was created by my daughter, Stephanie Burns

The sculpture is of me, created by my daughter, Stephanie Burns. On rainy days I seem to frown, but today, I’m happy in my garden.

My first daffodil bloomed on the first day of spring.

Grevilleas grow amongst my rock walls.

After such a wet, cold winter, to walk out of my back door and bask in gentle sunshine, filled my heart with joy and my body with warmth. My fingers were itching to plant and dig, to gather my harvest, or just get down and dirty.

Birdsong filled the air as my feathered friends darted in and out of grevilleas that grow amongst the rock walls tumbling down from my house.

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My camera was busy that day, capturing colour.

A day earlier I spotted a bright blue wren, the first of the season to land on my patio—a young male, eager for his first mating season, attacking his image in the glass doors. Unfortunately I couldn’t capture him on camera, but when one appears, I’m ready for the rest.

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Morning Sparkle

P1080355 How do I capture raindrops

in early morning light

as rays of sunshine burst

through misty haze?

From solitary shafts they hang

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