The Hermit

A room sits amongst the trees.
More box, less room; hidden away.

Within the room lives a Hermit
who loves the company of no one,
nothing; only birds, animals, and spirits
give the Hermit joy and sunshine.

A room so big on the inside, and
so small on the outside; a palace.

Around the room, birds flutter and
poop on the skylight. Trees sway to and
fro in time with the seasons, and burrows
hide wombats, possums, plump creatures.

A room sits in amongst the trees.
More palace, less room; hidden away.

Australian Landscapes

Big stars burn down from the sky,
the moonlights part of the way.

Bronzed grass lines the streetscape,
this land is crisping under the sun.

Blossoms on the breeze do smell,
as a lost memory emerges, forms.

Big stars burn down from the sky,
the moonlights part of the way,
so, I walk to the end of the street.

Black sky, big stars, a bright moon;
the hills sit in luminous shadows,
no cows moo at this time of night.

Bronzed grass lines the darkened
hills flowing beyond the shadows,
to remind me of other landscapes.

Blossoms on the breeze do smell,
reminding me of the landscapes
of my life, and how the landscapes
of this land changed me over time;
how this land’s landscapes change.


Tall trees hide many birds,
as we walk into the forest.

Unfamiliar bird chattering,
puts our quiet time to rest.

Onward we go dreaming,
wishing for the old times.

We spread out rugs, food;
looking up, down, around.

A bird pounces: one, two;
bread slices disappearing.

Another bird pounces soft;
fruit pieces are vanishing.

We nibble on what is left,
photographing the birds.