the smell of used books
and years of young love
wafts through the
airconditioning

it is quiet, but not silent
with mumured questions
and conversations being
puntuated by electronics

still there are heads bent
in the pursuit of knowledge
some deep, some philosophical
some kardashianesque.

i sit in comfort, in a nook
breathing in must and thought
and ponder the quest for knowledge

the tour passes by, the guide intones;
there is over 46 kilometres of shelving
in this library, each shelf stacks six high.
just under two hundred computers
and of course access  to wifi...this is
the hub of  knowledge and should
well become your second home

i smile as i watch the bright young things
in the nook across  from me,  
devour  the knowledge of each others face
learning diversified....

god it's so cold
heart impoverished
by grief
beggar at this feast
toes like ice
head full of mice
running  the race
of larger bretheren
while chattering
glory hallelujah
my joint cry fowl
my heart yowls
at an indifferent moon
salt water slurry
cascades down my cheeks
first day of the week
already i have wandered
too, too far off the track
down the valley of bleak
beaten down, weary
blue and black
cold weather blues
blacking my brain
like foul smelling soot
from a fire with no heat
need to find  warmth
for my heart to beat
need to switch songs
not rinse lather and repeat
spare a kindness, maybe a smile
my mendicant heart
so needs a boon...
god it's so cold
alone in this room
filled with others
all just the same
all are players in
this gam of life and loss
bereft....be it's name

is as if it grew
as limb of
the gnarled
stringybark

it sat, still
so very still
grey feathers
blended to
perfection

beak ****** up
at an angle
mimicking
the broken edge
of storm damaged
branch

only when
we had passed
it gave itself
away, with slow
blink of tawny eye
then shuttered again
it returned
to it's hidden glory

nothing to see here
just us branches

sun shines overbright
bee's harvest the lavender
precursor to spring

night too cold with frost
even the owls stay in, silent
winters reminder

in the time between
sleeping and waking
my thoughts drift to you
the sky begins to turn umber-red
and tears fall softly down my cheeks
it is a deep hearted truth that you do not
appreciate  what you have until it is lost
yet the day must go on so by the time the sun
has risen, the tears have dried and i now motherless
go about the daily tasks of being a wife and mother
but just letting you know i miss you...so very much

today i am
a teacup in a tempest
fragile against the slightest wind
fine china, in a world of sticks and stones
brimming over with tears, sat far to long
dark and bitter with tanin, sour with lemon
just waiting to be drained, in one long gulp
so someone may read the dregs of me

it is the sussuration of the passion
that is etched between
the lines of your forehead
that causes my heart to beat
with quiet fervor
as i await your next move