A new poetry prompt from Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.
“Please keep your poem under 150 words. Choose any four words that fit best with the mood/theme/personality of your poem on a topic of your choice.
lucid fiery twilight silhouette despair touch plunge frost goldcrest wind
sleep colour aspect murmuring coffee
gravel leaf october branch notes”
The year creeps towards the long day, short night,
and it’s not a time for anything to sleep.
Wattles provide ample gold amongst the khaki leaves.
The Dandenong Ranges haze purple and blue,
as new eucalyptus oil diffuses into the air.
A fledgling magpie is silhouetted on a roof top,
feeling the wind with her streamlined face.
The evening edges in around the sides of the world,
asking if it’s okay to sit down.
Lorikeets discuss this, as though, if they say no,
the dark will leave again.
Soon, it is Beltaine, the love festival,
celebration of male-female union,
fertility, the bountiful earth.
Maypoles stand ready for us
to weave the coming year.
Staying true to my country, my Southern Hemisphere Wheel of the Year, October is Spring time, and the weather can range from biting cold to humid and hot in a single day. This evening, looking out of my loungeroom window, there’s a high grey sheet of cloud across the sky, a coolish breeze, but the air is still warm. It’s 7pm, and the deeper colour of the gum trees shows through now that there’s not direct sun on the leaves. Two ducks, of all things, have just flown past my window. I can hear lorikeets putting themselves to bed, with their raucous carry-on of discussing the whole day, all at once. They nest in trees hereabouts.
It’s been warm-to-hot day, and I’ve spent most of the day reading. I overdid it a little at the gym, so I’ve deliberately slowed down today, had a lot of water, and maybe resisted the siren call of sugar by perhaps 10%. Thus, I’m settled enough this evening to simply sit and observe the evening, listen to walkers going past, the beginning of the evening round of flights coming into Melbourne airport. Many of them come in over my neighbourhood.
In a moment, I’ll post this, and continue reading, coincidentally, about sirens. Something is brewing in my story brain. I just have to wait now till it’s ready to fledge, like the magpie chick.