A final poem for the Scavenger Hunt, a brace of wayra. Thank you for the round world trip. It’s been a great experience!
A walk
Up the valley side
we climbed, the dogs and I, high,
where the light is pale and blue,
the valleyed folds sea-green,
tree-billows, fields’ embroidered edge.
We watched the spread world
dapple sun and shade, cloud-birds
reflected in still water,
the lofting of herons,
the hawks’ slow glide, wished we could fly.
A wayra sequence
Brief spring
Stark black of winter
has bloomed, unfurled, verdant green.
Wind blows warm across the fields
where buttercups tremble,
their bee-full gold unveiled.
Already the wind
from the south mutters, sand-scourge,
desert veils the orange sky,
uneasy birds shuffle,
watching bright rills shrinking,
and the mild spring sun
waxes fiery, burning orb,
pastel green spring wilts, winces,
blossom scatters, snow white,
scorched brown by the wind’s touch.
A wayra sequence for dverse. The photo was taken by John McKaveney.
Stars
Far above the world,
worlds turn about other stars,
dance with moons and meteors,
their light falling as slow
as trees grow, as dunes blow.
Is there life up there
in the cloudless, silent dark
is there music and laughter?
What do I know? A bird
sings to the rising sun.
In this bright night sky
there is mystery, beauty,
garlands of starlight strung out
on the horns of the moon,
and a starman, always.
The Four Swans 