Unseen snow below.
Against the blue sky the burnt
Bleached branches of eucalypts.

I can still hear
My maiden aunt's voice
As she said of my cousin,
'Stephen's a wonder!'
I was envious then,
But that was 50 years ago.
At his funeral the other day
His friends paid tribute
To the man they still call
"The Wonder".

To write a poem
In seventeen syllables
Is very diffic.

Inside my helmet
First my right ear then my left
Asks my mind to scratch.

Bees in clover, feet
Beware. Trees in flower. Taste
Honey in the air.

Beyond my parka
My nose hurts from bitter cold.
Shells crunch under foot.

When I told my kids
One was seen in the car park
My son ran inside.