In Her Garden

 

Inca nuts (called sacha inchi) grow.

Leave them out in the sun long enough, 

she shows us, and the tough shells burst open 

all by themselves, to release the kernels. 

They’ll save your life in many ways,

she says. But roast before eating!

Also there are purple flowers

called Clitoria for their erotic shape. 

She lifts the blooms from their stems, 

drops them in warm water, which makes it blue, 

then adds a squirt of lemon juice into every glass

and it turns purple. The taste is delicate, sweet.

Her friend the kookaburra comes to her call,

sits on the veranda rail and grins at her I swear

with his big wide clacking beak. She coos at him 

and strokes and fluffs the feathers at the back of his neck.

Often, I know, she feeds him witchetty grubs

she finds for him, foraging down there in her garden.

I'm not doing the full April Poem A Day thing this year, because (a) my son and his partner came for a visit and (b) I got a bit unwell and had to spend a couple of days in hospital, and now am taking things quietly for the next little while. It was very fortuitous that family were here at the right time, to look after me and also after Poppi cat during my brief absence from home. (It was fluid on the lung following a slight head cold which I mistook for the tail end of my Summer allergies. The infection, slight as it was, put a strain on the old heart, and that in turn caused the fluid on the lung. All treated and medicated now and I will follow up with GP straight after Easter. Doctors at hospital are not too worried about me, and I know what symptoms should take me back to the hospital if they occur. So please don't be alarmed.)  Meanwhile, just before all this happened, I had a lovely day at my friend's, as described above, and I did have a look at the first April prompt at Poetic Asides, which was 'seed'.  So I began this poem, which got interrupted by the drama ... and finished it just now, days later. Maybe I'll do a few more poems this April, and maybe they'll be inspired by the prompts. We'll see. But I am definitely not going to attempt the usual frantic marathon!

Sharing with Poets and Storytellers United for Friday Writings #221 April Quotes.  No quotes here, but at least this took place in April – although only the date of posting tells you that.

My Town

 

In my town, silence

deepens as the night

slows to late.

From my hill, I observe

streets and houses 

settling down to bed.

An occasional dog.

A passing night bird.

One or two homing cars.

Then it belongs

to me and poetry

alone. Mine.

A second Quadrille about silence (inspired by dVerse) in response to a request from one of the others who answered the prompt, who wrote of his town and wondered what others might say of theirs in 44 words. (I'm not sharing this with the dVerse group as a whole, as we were only asked for one Quadrille to address the prompt, and mine is the poem I posted here just before this one. But it's fine of course if they happen across it.)

Poetry and Duty

 

Conscience tells me 

not to be silent.

When poetry is duty

is it still a poem?

But in these times, 

being human 

gives everyone the duty

the imperative 

to speak against

all the kinds of destruction

by which 

we are taking 

ourselves 

into silence.

A Quadrille written for Shhhhhhh.......Quiet, Please!  at dVerse. 

(Quadrille: 44 words excluding title – which in this instance must include some form of the word 'silent'.)