Trawool hills

Another poem from the collection. Can't find the painting but I think it works alone?

This area was a busy place in Australia during the Second World War. My Grandparents ran the railway station and we were always busy. American and Australian uniforms blended with our young childhood. It is still an area we call home.


Trawool Hills in November.

This range protects
a huddle of houses
sprinkled along the road,
above the river flats.

Their green gentleness,
now turning golden ,
as summer brings its
own enticements

to children who explore
the heights and slide
down granite rocks
spilled eons ago.

These hills fostered
exploration, love
for nature and freedom.
Independence grew.

Here, childhood days
were sunny, warm
filled with companionship
and - always adventure.

Old tracks scar the foothills,
station house long gone;
history flotsam where
lost laughter echoes.

But those benign hills,
remain. Benevolent,
silent sentinels,
they remember.



#

The Deep

This week I just finished an anthology of ekphrastic poetry based mainly on my sister's paintings. It was for her birthday and, I'm pleased to say, for once it got there on time. I'm not the most organized when it comes to posting parcels.

This is the inspired by the cover painting.

The Deep

Blue draws me, lifts me on a warm sea,
to float away on gathering waves.

The blue of summer seas, or winter skies
unclouded, shining on pristine snow;

Impartial blue, a deepening mystic,
infinity calling. Levels and depths beckon

but tight borders and sharp angles
corral, restrain wandering dreams.

Soul refreshed, mind cleansed,
I return to house-wife realities.

Thank God, and the artist for
the calming balm of blue.