GUEST WRITERS
Ailsa's Verses
Harmony of Life
My favourite things will roll and sway,
Or gently rock at close of day
Things soft and fleecy - free of gloss,
Like powder puffs and Fairy Floss.
Delicate stuff, like thistledown,
Petals and feathers and
leaves red-brown
That glide and float to earth on flight ...
And soft diffusing candlelight.
I don't like things that jerk and jag,
That lump and bump and
skitter and snag
Things brittle, sharp, of splintery make,
And flimsy things that fall - and break!
And there are sounds
that shriek and scream,
That shatter an idyllic dream.
I don't like harsh metallic sound,
Or see gaudy neon lights abound.
But people -
that's a different story.
They come to earth
in God's own glory.
And some are this, and some are that,
And some are thin, and some are fat,
Nasty, pleasing,
jarring, faking.
(Which may not be
of their own making)
We must see past the awkward dress
To inner soul - and then caress.
Aotearoa
- Land of the Long White Cloud
Mountain and meadow land,
hollows and hills
Glistening waterfalls
streamlets and rills.
Lakes with reflections
To see them a 'Grace'.
This country indeed
Is a watery place ...
And you can see sheep
In the land of the Long White Cloud.
Gorges and glaciers
Grand and remote.
Fast flowing rivers,
And rapids to float.
Snow on the high peaks
And frost on the ground
Sunshine and showers
... and sandflies abound!
And you know there are sheep
In the Land of the Long White Cloud.
Rainforest beauty
The tree ferns so tall
Palms, pine and fir trees,
Green banks over all.
Golden leaves falling
For Autumn has come.
The red tips on beech leaves
Will scarlet become ...
And there are sheep,
In the Land of the Long White Cloud.
Black Angus cattle
And Friesan cows too,
making rich milk
For me and for you.
Bumble bees bumbling
Great fun to see
While honey bees garner ...
So ... honey for tea!
And always the sheep,
In the Land of the Long White Cloud.
Bird songs of Tui
Bell birds are fun
But Kiwis are scarce here
I never saw one!
Possums are a problem,
The curse of the land
But the penguins and seals
Are revered, never banned...
And of course, there are sheep,
In the Land of the Long White Cloud.
Small fields like patchwork
Appliquéd green and gold.
Bright are the gardens with colours so bold.
Tall flax and Pampas Grass
grow ever higher.
The 'Cross up above
And sunsets of 'fire'.
And I'll always remember the sheep
In the Land of the long White Cloud.
Fremantle Circa 1940s
No 'Cappuccino Strip' - just Market Street.
No noisy, colourful week-end Markets of every description.
Shabby, run down, no place to meet
Except at the Tech. Education School
Where army rejects attempted to teach desultory students -
Not old enough to enlist - but almost.
Back then at the sound of the siren we made
For the basement and stacks of cycles.
The 'All Clear' signal ignored as long as
Possible by boys and girls both.
The Greek Fish and Chips - tasty and good.
'Salt and Vinegar, miss?' Of course.
The Italian Fruiterer - what happened to him?
An Internment Camp for this alien,
No matter that he was born here.
Huge jarrah Air Raid Shelters abutting the pavement,
Feeling one's way in the 'Black-out'.
Wharf out-of-bounds with barbed wire fencing
Chugging cars with gas-producers attached where
The Boot is today, and bicycles with bells.
Uniforms of khaki and Navy Blue and Air Force Blue
Forces from across this land and afar.
Officers in smart peaked caps, in contrast to
Forage caps, and flat caps of Filipinos and Dutch.
And later white canvas 'Gobs' that US sailors wore
(and made presents of nylons and Coca Cola, if you knew one).
And of course - 'Brown slouch hats with the side turned up'.
Music of sorts from wireless and wind-up gramophone
Dances in the old Vic' Hall,
In aid of 'Comforts Funds'.
And no 'Cappuccino Strip'.
Song of Lament
Today I was walking to the shops
when I saw the crushed form of a small creature.
He had almost made it ... but not quite,
to the verge of a road traversed by traffic with wheels!
Hostile environment for a bob-tail goanna venturing forth
on a warm spring day.
And I mourned ... and walked on to the shops.
Tea-time and the TV showed (yet another)
tiny, dark-skinned baby crying in anguish,
and for whom there was no breast,
and no hope in a country ravaged by drought and despair.
Hostile environment for a newborn ...
and I turned off the picture.
Tonight the tireless brought news (as ever)
of more bombings, and of terror-stricken lives
in a war-wracked world.
And I remember how once we sang
'When will they ever learn?'
and lay on the road in protest ...
In a hostile environment of threat of nuclear annihilation.
And I mourned ... and went to bed.
And today I walked to the shops
and I mourned ...
Moving Picture Window verses
An Autumn Morning
1988
The glory-vine - green through to scarlet
Trails rampantly over the fence,
Framing the water -
Polished steel, grey-blue,
reflecting the calm sky.
The boy wades in the shallows of the Bay,
A black silhouette, like a shadow puppet.
A red boat glides silently from
the shore ...
And a yellow leaf drops from the tree
A Galah Day
(in spring 1990)
Today my sky is grey
And so
The sea reflects this hue -
No longer blue.
Rocks and sand seem
Lead-smudged too ...
But my garden below is over-run
With masses of pink Valerian!
November in the South West
The late afternoon sun a brilliant ball of fire,
Smoked hazed from 'burning off'.
How I savour this bush-scented incense
and the newly warmed air permeating
my very being and absorbing the nuances
of this pre-summer ritual.
Late Winter Afternoon
(Dunsborough 1991)
Blue and silver - close of day,
Evening colours in the Bay.
Clouds above are tinged with pink,
A far-off sun begins to sink.
This beauteous table spread for me,
A festal meal of sky and sea ...
My soul is filled; heart, voice, I raise,
In this my canticle of praise!
My Moving Picture Window by Night
Velvet blackness in the Bay -
The paintbox colours of the day
have given way ...
To twinkling lights along the shore.
Nothing more.
I see reflections,
Silvered shafts like rippled foil,
And a row of twinkling lights
along the shore -
Nothing more.
Night has fallen.
In the bay, the paintbox colours of the day
have given way to velvet blackness,
and
a row of twinkling lights
along the shore.
Autumn at Dunsborough
1991
Yesterday -
The Bay
was bleak...
and grey.
Sunshine sparkles
there today.
It's April -
nearly May.
In the Spring Holidays - 1989
Tide's out - A blue-grey membrane films
the rock hard sand ... and the red shirted boy
and a black and white dog ...
Walk on water!
Condominium Country
Concrete columns of greyness
soaring skyward
A monotone of architectural
madness - and drabness
ant-like humanity
hurrying, scurrying
to a hideous hideout -
or a haven - or home?
I do not know
I only see it -
and feel sad.
The shame of a city.
China Plate
(early summer 1992)
Blue sea.
White boat.
Today the only one
afloat...
and overhear,
Soaring high,
White gull,
Blue sky.
And other verses ...
Development 1992
Chain-saw, 'Dozer, Bob-cat, Drill.
Massive trucks with sand for 'fill',
Ancient trees in screaming death.
Tiny creatures squeezed for breath.
Glossy brochures, blaring ads.
Denuded bushland, concrete 'pads'...
Peaceful places now are gone,
No more is heard the Magpies' song.
Polluting fumes and choking smog.
No quiet lanes, to walk the dog.
They watch Stock Markets in the city,
And call it 'progress' - what a pity.
"It's all for 'jobs' " , they smugly say.
Such altruism - in this day!
Multi-nationals see it fine,
That outsize, sparkling dollar sign,
Blind to all but short term gain.
In future years how to explain
The plundered earth like running sore,
A children's paradise no more.
My soul is sad, filled with despair -
"Is no one listening out there?"
Golden Hope
Today I saw a tiny yellow daisy in a crack in a grey concrete footpath - and I had hope.
Today I saw the sun rise - glowing beams in a never failing daily warming of the earth.
Today I spread honey, sweet translucent amber, on my breakfast toast.
Today I saw a mother duck followed by three downy ducklings cross safely between traffic on a busy road.
Today the postie brought a photo from a country friend - a picture of burnished waving wheat.
Today I baked a crusty apple pie and poured cream from a glazed pottery jug.
Today I saw a boy cavorting with his bright-coated dog, and a small girl in a gaily-checked pinafore swinging on a gate.
Today I picked a bunch of marigolds and arranged them in a gleaming vase.
Today I caught a glimpse of blond curls as a tiny baby nestled against his mother's breast.
Today I wrote a card for a loving couple who exchanged vows and shining rings fifty years ago.
Today I thought of people the whole world over who may never see these gifts of golden glory, and I paused - and prayed.
And today I saw a tiny yellow daisy in a crack in a grey concrete footpath - and I had hope.
Manual Labour
I use my knife and chopping boards
Preparing meals for hungry hordes.
My family all use gadgetry,
But that is not for the likes of me.
I take and axe to chop the wood,
And light the fire to cook the food.
There's none to equal cakes or stew
When done by Metters No. 2!
When it's time to do the wash,
My wringer model isn't posh,
And though the family have a fit,
Clothes come out cleaner than they admit.
And when my washing's on the line,
Their Automatic's still on Cycle nine!
When I need to cut the grass,
I see folks' faces as they pass.
My faithful Mower pushed by hand
Is something they can't understand.
Petrol and cables - not a bit,
It saves me money - keeps me fit.
I do not own or drive a car,
Not needed with a 'Malvern Star'.
My bicycle is old in years,
And so of course it has no gears.
But bicycle and legs, and bus,
Get me around with little fuss.
I do not own a Microwave.
I do not have such 'time' to save
And yet I still have space to play
And rock in my chair at close of day.
My family with me often plead -
"Get with it, Mum," - I do not heed.
They sometimes even rave and rant.
I guess I'm just recalcitrant!
Nutcote is Magic
Have you heard the sound of tiny pattering feet?
Have you breathed the air of nectar-honey sweet?
Have you seen the slender leaves encircling the door?
And little balls of golden pollen, carpeting the floor?
Do you feel you're being watched
by chubby wide-eyed faces?
In house and garden where you peer -
they have their secret places.
Do you sometimes catch your breath when scary sounds you hear?
Heavy sounds like wooden boots -
Are Banksia-men quite near?
Did you glimpse the fluffy skirts, and caps of brown and green?
If you look VERY carefully, wee creatures CAN be seen!
Not Peter Pan or Tinker Bell,
Or wing-ed Sprites in faerie dell,
But Bib and Bub and Bushland Fays
re-live for you those magic days.
There's Nuttybub and Nittersing -
(they help the Qualup Bells to ring).
And Snugglepot and Cuddlepie,
teasing Bush Babies bouncing by,
With tickles, chuckles, squeals and laughter.
Bringing joy forever after.
Written after a visit to 'Nutcote', the home of the late May Gibbs, which has now been turned into a National Trust Classified building and is now listed on the Register of the National Estate. The property is now administered by the Nutcote Trust, and is to be developed as a centre for children's literature, the arts and the environment.
Stamp of Authority
The year was ninety ninety-four,
A good year no doubt,
For Commonwealth Games were set to score ...
And records put to rout ...
We gathered round the old TV,
All eyes on the dark-skinned girl.
An Australian medal was in sight
An Australian flag to unfurl.
Those long legs flashed, lithe body straining,
She ran like the wind - or faster.
And as we watched we knew the result
Of this event she'd master.
Quickly she snatched up two pieces of cloth
Coloured shapes - she waved them high
And Cathy ran the Victory Lap
While the cheering crowd stood by.
But then 'Authority' stepped in
Purposeful - to make a stand.
Objecting to her running display
With the symbol of her land.
But the champion runner stood her ground
And led them a merry chase.
For we cheered her win a second time
Although nothing was left to chance.
Again she ran the Victory Lap
Once more two flags held high
And purposeful 'Authority'
Could only just stand by.
And a Different 'Stamp of Authority'
Was born in our land that day
So proudly given to her race,
It must never be taken away.
And that day will long be remembered
Perhaps with a tear in the eye
When Cathy ran the Victory Lap,
Holding those two flags high.