Sheep on a grassy green hill generating,
Mirrored the clouds that peppered the sky,
Country living;
“The Great Escape” nearby!

I love Spring;
When all the trees
Practice re-clothing!

My bones creaked
As loud and as long
As the frogs,
On the logs and in the pond,
this morning --
Aging is as ubiquitous as nature;
In that sense:
You could say:
‘I am at one with nature.'

I long to lie down,
Where all the wild flowers grow;
Their soft embrace makes my sleep sound,
But their vivid colours evoke life within now —

I remember when,
As a child,
My mum would "blow raspberries,"
In my face...

She would tell me:
I would laugh
and giggle,
until the craze
meant I couldn’t wiggle
or scream, from paralysis.

I remember when,
As a teen,
I would blow raspberries,
In my cousins’ faces,
As I would babysit them
And play hide-and-chase
Until they came out screamin’

I remember when,
As an adult,
I would blow raspberries,
In my nieces’ faces,
Until they would dream of,
and scream for, wild raspberries.

I remember when...
All of that seemed not so long ago —

I find myself
Looking more regularly
At the weather map,
Checking the chance of chills and drips
Or sunshine and fine sailing.

The percentages
Determine:
My attire: dress or pants,
Jacket or t-shirt, and snaz it up with lace?

But more importantly, it informs my shoes:
Heels, loafas...

Today, gum boots!

Especially while swimming in these storms.

The rain,
makes my grass glow fluorescent green,
and grow like it’s on steroids.

Love,
makes my heart a mix of hyper-serene,
like out-of-water chimaeroids.

How do we ride these natural phenomena?
Trustingly —

Live now!
You may not ever get this moment again —

I have a bashed-up coffee donker,
From too hard and too much dinking —

It sits there, next to my retro, white barista-chine*,
On my movable wine bar,
Slash coffee trolley cart;
My all-in-one entertainment station.

Where, previously, I had a silver aluminium bucket
Storing all my coffee sloshes.

It seemed like a convenient (cheaper) way
To free my frustrations fancifully —

I could have gone to a firing range,
Or let some golf ***** fly,
Usually though,
I just internalise the anxiety and rage —

Life is fragile
Like a china tea cup cracked —
Do we hold on to these crooked pieces,
Like we hold our inner wounds,
Hoping to mend them one day —
Is it something sentimental?
Mindful?
Frugal?!

Precious.

In the city,
I used to live in
both quiet and busy places -

But my first foray into fast living
was in a suburb called “Liberty Grove,”
established for the ‘2000 Sydney Olympic Games.”

What was once a village of athletes giving their blood, sweat, and tears for their countries,
and to hear a few cheers,
was now a layer cake of strangers
living the daily grind in drone-like silence —

Baths outside --
It's a country thing...

After a hard day’s work
of rounding up the cattle,
fixing fences fast and
grounding the grass, you’ll mantle
the horses and red-hot stamp them...

You may break for brunch:
coffee (necessary) and a bite to eat,
But then it’s back on your feet.
More jobs to greet..

Then, when the sun starts setting,
slipping behind the slopes, staged in the set background,
as it's done on 'McLeod's Daughter's' and ‘Yellowstone’ —
You throw off your clothes and get right in
to the outside bath,
And soak off the grime from your worn out bones.

Sip a cold beer, or shot a wild whiskey, with relieving cheer!
"ahhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Someone recently, generously, commented on my poetry:

“Your poems swing from playful snapshots of orange lipstick and coffee grounds to deeper, soul-level stuff like angels, dry bones, and widening circles. That mix is what makes your work feel alive.”

Yes, I write about all things living,
All things happening in my life,
All things I am pondering
All things that are rife —

But, there is one thing about which I don't write…

L O V E

I am not a love poet like the sublime @onlylovepoetry

Love is what my heart longs for the most — yet it's the one thing I can't fix.

I cannot write about the thing I know the least about,
But, I will croon out the longing and the fight!

I want to write a love poem, but perhaps I need to know love first to even qualify…