perhaps this 'he'...

Perhaps this 'he' could be 'she'

                                                                                 could be 'me'...

THE CROWDLESS MAN

See him wandering alone,

The crowdless man,

He has no group,

He has no tribe,

He carries his identity in his pocket.

His pocket has a hole in it,

His story has a hole in it,

His tragedy is not a tune you can hum.

His suffering and sacrifice,

They have no handles;

His persecution has no logo,

No shrine, no yardstick.

His joy has no credentials,

His observations have no fixed address;

There are no awards whatsoever.

His gaze and yearning are way outside the loop,

His pilgrimage has lots of holes in it.

See him wandering alone.

Beaming to himself. 

Thank you 

Michael Leunig 

for letting me see 

Me...

Michael Leunig planting a Saharan Cypress
at the Royal Botanical Gardens in Melbourne
October 2015
- Michael Leunig Appreciation Page

interactive...

time
spring waters
refresh stifled feet
an interactive garden
laden with scents of the bush
yesterday's wonder
my birthday
feast

spring school holidays...

spring
school holidays

time to visit
some special places

Coolart wetlands

where ibis and other water birds
gather
to nest

from the bird hide
in early morning
alone
I watch the hive
of spring
activate

frantic jostling
on a tiny island for space
tug-o-war with twigs and small branches
a dance or two
or three 
in some cases

wide wings
commanding
attention
or just
commanding

to one side
two share
a private
close
moment

and then there is one
who prefers to watch
from another island
high on a tree branch

happy to be

alone

like me


on a spring morning

I made time...

I made time to see the flowers today

warming near Spring sun is enough for them
to venture into new life

they put aside
adverse winds

and simply
get on with
living and
being


some need the closeness of like minds
strength
double the beauty

and yet
each retains a unique breath
a unique voice

that sings in the moment

even if the moment

is meant to be
fleeting

it was the usual...

it was the usual
too much to do
too little time
kind of Friday

lots of rocky shapes to negotiate

or it appeared to be at 8:00am

but by 9:30am
something small
but something special
just happened

a student
(a Year 10 student no less)

while he waited the long wait
for the school network to load on his computer
and I was drifting 
doing the usual rounds of
get thinking
get creating
sing song

told me to hold out my hands
cupped

I was still not quite into the roll/role of reality
so did as asked

he told me to close my eyes
and not peek

I closed my eyes

and then
I felt 
wrappers in my hands

something you'll like miss
to get you through the day

the eyes 
my eyes
popped open
and there were 
sweets
coffee sweets
tiny
wrapped
coffee delights

o so appealing

he smiled at my surprise
now don't munch them in class
he said
with a wicked grin

humbly 
quietly
I thanked him

if only students knew
how a day can be so changed
with a little kindness
and thoughtfulness

those rocky shapes
intimidating an hour ago
now sparkled

my Friday became
a day of beauty

that still lingers

the sun sets...

the sun sets
on another working week
the relief of a new weekend is nigh

but thoughts still
shuffle back to those
heavy days
last week
when an angel lady
stepped up to heaven

as I drove home today
in light grey rain

I felt her face
drifting with the soft afternoon music

the farmlands slipped by on the notes of the winds
and
she was there
hovering

I felt her smile
somehow out of tune with
her sad
wide
eyes

like a limbo between
bliss and
heartache

I felt impelled
when I arrived home
to find 
her other voice
her own 
secret
music

I found Silverwind

 I believe though I don't really understand 

behind the shining smile
she was a troubled spirit
but she lived a life
soothing the spirits of others

she reached out in love
to orphaned children 

she made exquisite little dolls' outfits
as gifts

but the child in her
was dragged along
a little tattered
a little torn
a little orphaned
herself

 I believe though I don't really understand 

I don't really understand
how to give
the path of love
to one
who seems lost

I don't really understand
how to connect loving memories
from yesterday
to today

And when the break of dawn seems oh, so far away 
And all my joy has disappeared into the night

her darkness
was sealed
safely
in music

while she always walked 
in the light

 I believe in spite of all I'm going through
I believe in you

I did not expect to say goodbye...so soon...

Dearest Esther... 
You shared your beautiful soul with so many of us round the world. 
Even though we may not have met you in person, we walked with you in your world. 
You gave us the gift of seeing the birth of hope, courage and vision 
in what could be a desert wasteland. 
What an inspiration. 
It can be done. 
 Thank you so much for sharing your smile... 
We will not forget... 
Fly dear lady with the angels... 
We are sure you continue to watch over us... 

We feel your spirit...

                  - My Facebook post - Friday 7.8.15


today
my Friday songlines
go
beyond songlines

ESTHER GARVI
Born in Sweden, I came to Niger in 1986 and am still around. Am the greatest Niger fan you can find and cannot think of a better way to live my life than working for Eden Foundation in the Tanout zone.
- died 5th August 2015 - 34 years old...

Photos from Esther Garvi's photo album on Facebook...

Friday... bring on the music...

Image on BuzzFeed
Image and words on Pinterest



as usual
I began my driving part of the day
with classical music
(it soothes the savage driving spirit)

but what was different today was
beneath the haze of fine music
I zoned into some words by the radio announcer

a quote

my music is best understood by children and animals

somehow
I felt
connected

the quote happily haunted
my frantic teaching day
and gave me strength
and gave me different puzzles to play

what did it mean
what did it mean

I found myself
gathering thoughts

somehow
these souls
sense the music
without lessons
without the refinement of
what to appreciate
and what not

somehow these souls
seem to know
more about the music of heaven
than we older varieties can even dream about

where did we take the wrong turn

did we build the wrong journey

did we see the wrong goals

did we let
money
mangle
our mansions
within

till our music
forgot how to play


if only we could find a way
to retrieve
our lost song

our lost chord

Friday...like a falling house of cards...

Image : Huffington post article:
7 Facts That Bring Order To The Madness Of  'Alice's Adventures In Wonderland'  9.7.15


when Friday ends
(at work)
I want to change

I want to exchange
one madness of
nonsensical rules
for another madness

my own madness
unfettered

even if I must use
dream devices
to unchain
waking logic

my dream device allows
the compassionate tow truck driver
sacked for rescuing a disabled man on a busy motorway
to get his job back

who ever heard of rules that supercede kindness in a desperate situation...
even safety rules have their blind spots

and just to show
how far I will take this madness of mine
I'd love to learn
how to make sculptures
out of sugar
yes
sculptures made entirely of sugar

then the tumbling house of cards
can vaporise into

sweet dreams


NOTE
Joseph Marr creates sculptures of sugar

Friday is like scattered leaves...

Friday is like scattered leaves...

a week of rainy days means procrastination has been at an optimum....

the nigh weekend is like a sense of hope
that sunny changes may emerge with a new dawn...

I cannot forget the little boy
homeless
using the light of Mcdonald's
to complete his homework
it seems
that homework
gave his life meaning
and I couldn't forget the fact
that he treasured his one pencil to write his homework

he kept it close
to his rosary beads

I cannot forget
the old lion
touching the earth
and seeing the sky
for the first time

I cannot forget
scattered leaves
keep the spirit

alive