Sunday, June 9, 2013

Old Moleskins

This morning a bird flew up,
then another, higher than yachts at sea.
Here on the coast, on a priestly hill of
shrieking gulls, tea-trees, phones
noisy notes escaping from
picnic and park, I sit
watching the helpless young,
crowded nests, cormorants baking
on sculptured rock.
Some rise, others land.
Some haply wall together
like invited guests.
Thinly lined, this group
is nature’s posy —
black and white sunshine,
old moleskins.
And beyond the rock’s withered fare
after stretch and preen
they let the homeless in.


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Published by Australian Poetry Centre, Melbourne

of Arc & Shadow

of Arc & Shadow
Published by Sunline Press, WA

The Joyous Lake

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