The Current Climate

Weeks of rain,

frequent storms;

humid some days, 

others cool. When 

will summer happen?

We tread warily,

most of us masked

even in the street.

Sanitise, check in/out,

keep your distance.

Best friends chat

on facebook, Messenger,

email, SMS text –

jokes and pictures

instead of actual hugs.

Somewhere else

they’re having heatwaves.

Everywhere else

they’re having COVID.

The whole world complains.

But the islands of Tonga 

have no COVID – only

a volcano and a tsunami! 

Infected rescuers turn back. 

There’s enough trouble.

In a pause between showers

I watch a butterfly, just one, 

dipping and rising –

black-and-white against 

yellow blooms and red.

Photo:  Arjun M J at Unsplash..

A gogyoshi sequence written in response to Friday Writings #11 at Poets and Storytellers United. We were invited to be inspired by the phrase, 'feast or famine'. There's a lot of that about! (Both extremes.) I've written from an Australian perspective, where it is officially summer. Different parts of the country are experiencing different weathers – and then there's Omicron. As for our South Pacific neighbours.... I don't think anyone's having the summer they'd like.

Quiet in bed, I overheard …

Quiet in bed, I overheard

the moon’s low voice

telling the shadows:

Stay clear of her. She is mine. 

Do not drift close to her body, 

do not slide into her mind.

All night, every night

in my childhood and beyond,

she beamed her light.

Shining white, or silvery,

sometimes gold, she filled

my uncurtained window.

         *********

Quiet in bed, I overheard 

the moon tell 

100 thousand million stars:

This one is poetry. Her 

we guard through the night, 

saturate with our light.

Later, when troubles came

and griefs could not be denied,

the moon and stars endured.

Their light ignites my torch,

called poetry – which illuminates

and transforms all shadows.

Full moon photo: © Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2018

Note: It is estimated that there are about 100 thousand million stars in our galaxy.

Written in response to Friday Writings #10 at Poets and Storytellers United.

My Guity Secret

I wonder if it counts as a secret? I’ve never told anyone before. On the other hand, to those who know me, it will come as no great surprise. (Though quite possibly shocking.)

What makes us keep something secret? This one, I confess, I regard as somewhat shameful. I fear that those who find out will think worse of me.

They might want me to change – for my own good. (It’s a secret of behaviour.) If I reveal it, they might EXPECT me to change, taking the revelation as a sign of contrition, a prelude to atonement.

But I have no intention of altering this horrifying habit. Defiantly I say – as my Dad used to (about many things) – ‘It amuses me and does no-one else any harm.’ 

Could a case be made that it does some harm to some others? Their sense of aesthetics … their peace of mind…? But I live alone with my little cat. She doesn’t object. It doesn’t affect her.

People may even expect guilt! I do have a little. But not enough, nowhere near enough, to make a change – not one of the magnitude this would be.

I had been going along unthinkingly, getting away with it because no-one was around to observe; not worrying, not questioning myself. Then I recommended a book to a friend.

I know this friend is a reader, a lover of books. Indeed, she's very well-read. I know, and she knows, she would love this particular book. But what she said was,

’Thanks. If I make time to read, I’ll try to remember.’

WHAT?

I know she has a lot happening: cooking, gardening, housework, some current home renovations, constantly helping out with young grandchildren, and supporting herself as a working artist. And she has health conditions which mean she needs a lot more rest than most. Where indeed could she make time to read?

And yet….  

Well, we’re all different.

My guilty secret is: I never don’t make time to read. 

It takes precedence. (It's a drug.) The housework gets left; I go without hours of sleep; I neglect my correspondence, my filing, my shopping, watering my plants…. 

The hard thing is to refrain from a book.

Written for Friday Writings #9: Telling Secrets at Poets and Storytellers United.

This Year, At Last …

After our 1998 world trip, Andrew and I left North America for home via San Francisco, an afternoon stopover to explore the city.

It was a holiday weekend. On Pier 39, Andrew briefly volunteered as assistant to a magician doing a show! Then we found a bookshop and I found a treasure: an oversized volume of quality prints of Georgia O’Keeffe paintings with her notes on their genesis.

I love discussions of artistic process. I adore Georgia O’Keeffe. Had to have it! But it was BIG. We’d need to post it … on a public holiday?

The shop assistant thought one particular Post Office might be open – but getting there wouldn't allow us time to make our outgoing flight. Could the shop send it to Australia later? That was complicated. No-one knew what the cost might be. In the end we just bought it and took it.

We found a luggage shop on the pier, and got a carry-on bag big enough. Because we were in transit between flights, we didn’t have to go through a full check-in. (This was before 9/11, after which security tightened a lot.) We ditched the small, very old and worn carry-on bag I’d left in an airport locker, packing my stuff around the book in the new one.

But, the weight limit – it mustn’t appear heavy! I managed to saunter aboard, swinging the bag carelessly, as if it wasn’t dislocating my shoulder!

This book remains one of my dearest treasures. So much so, I’ve scarcely dared open it since! It was displayed on my coffee table until the spine discoloured, then on a shelf in my bedroom. I have gazed long and often at the beautiful reproductions. But as for reading those fascinating process notes, I’ve barely begun. (Although bits I've dipped into did not disappoint.) It seemed too sacred a space to enter.

But I’m 82 now. How much more time do I have?

After some home renovations, that book is still among many in boxes in my garage. Time to find it, bring it out, really read it at last!

I don’t do New Year resolutions. But this year I have one. I’ll finally give myself that treat.

I found it! (It's a little larger than my laptop, 

14-and-a-half by 11 inches or 36-and-a-half by 28 cm.)

Written for Friday Writings #8: Resolutions at Poets and Storytellers United.