For Aunty Pat Ellis
Writin' that day
that special day
nostalgic with tears
walkin' past middens
Koori kitchens to childhood
kitchens nostalgic with tears
pickin' up a shell
and rememberin' teachings
of the old days
"put it back where it was
leave it there"
I know the old ways
'cause I did what I was s'posed to
sat down and listened…
The girl with a flower in her hair
Motioned moonlight to visit her
Dancing light beams touched her face
Stillness touched ruby lips
Froze tears to her bones
Love still for her?
She could hope
Beyond
Dreams
By June Perkins
Experimenting with poetic form - this is a Nonet
Sleeping beauties
now Tsunamis.
Waves of sleep
waves of ocean
weekend mornings
nightmare’s yawning.
The city’s parades’ loud raucous calls,
the country singers under the stars.
Morning papers
cuppa tea
quakes here and there
warnings come and go
some to higher ground
do flow.
Connecting and disconnecting,
people come and people go
people lonely,
people happy.
Waves of depression
cross the World…
A baby smiles
she survived the rubble
in Japan
a writer smiles
she saw a rainbow
a walk with bright yellow umbrellas
in the rain
a feeling that life
will go on once again
sending off packages of illustrations
and words
to meet dignitaries
wondering if they
will hear our joy
as well as our sorrow
a walk with purple orchids…
I saw you blow the trumpet
On Sesame Street
Tee, Arr,You, Em, Pee, Ee, Tee.
Your balloon cheeks
Transferring your spirit into The Sounds of Bebop.
My cheeks look funny, but they don't hurt
This they made your epitaph
On the evening news
That's all they could say
But you
You did more Dizzy
You loved that Cat God.
You were a Herald…
Medellin – Flickr Creative Commons
For Vincent Van Gough
I am a lover
Without love.
My church takes away
My Priesthood.
I am a Vicar
Whose church is
Esoine red,
Geranium lake.
I am a painter
Who half sees
Empty chairs
Geranium lakes,
Black crows.
I am Beethoven’s
Right hand man.
Curated light cancers
My cherry trees.
Our orchards bear white apples.
I am my painted
Yellow sunflowers.
I am a
Painted love geranium
Tormented
Esoine red.
By June Perkins
You can find my poetry and that of people who inspire me at Ripple Poetry.
This is my latest offering.
Eva Patikan – Flickr Creative Commons
Funerals like rain
Fall from clouds
Young boys say ‘goodbye’
As father’s lowered to the ground
Mother stands alone
Tears become her shroud
Funeral goers utter not a sound.
She hears blue guitar strums
She’s pounding melancholy’s drums.
Texas and Tully are so far apart
Yet they share skies
Where hawks and ibis fly
Storms and troubles rock both their shores
Warn their people to depart.
She tells her children
the legend of the Texas Blue Bonnet flower
A young girl gave up her warrior doll,
The last reminder of family,
To invoke a higher power.
She burnt her warrior doll
Its head dress of blue feathers
Offered up its ashes
To the North, South, East and West Winds
So hunger and loss it would tether.
She cried herself to sleep.
Let her memory weep.
When she awoke
Never before seen flowers,
Clambered the mountains
Birds made their bowers
People drank from hope’s fountains.
The mother with the shroud
Inside’s the little girl
Who’ll burn her own warrior doll
She knows what must be done
She’ll let her dreams unfurl.
She’ll wait till all sleep then
Pull out her favourite guitar
Take those blue cords
Burn them, banish them
Scatter their ashes,
North, South, East and West.
The dry season will begin
Floods have had their fun
A looking- to-the-future music
will now begin to grow.
By June Perkins
Herself- Flickr Creative Commons
Elixir string
Holds my soul ring
Finds my blue note
Gives me a heart boat.
Soul ring
Finds my heart’s tune
Makes a coat of blue tone
Pares music back to its bones
My blue note
Bends in the moonlight
Dips and dives
In the river of heart light
Shimmering on the artist’s lake
Saying ‘let my soul wake.’
By June Perkins
Guitar Hands – By June Perkins
Photographing all that must one day disappear
becomes a way of toughing out Yasi’s induced fear.
Life is clear when loss comes close
stripping priorities back to the bone
for those of the Cassowary Coast.
Striding in sunburst through the trees
light clothes half waking ones in dappled resignation
‘we’ve seen storms before, but not like this.’
The shore of memory laps over insurance claims.
Can you transcribe sand and cane, licuala and pain
a sorrow whisper beyond assessors’ disdain?
‘we don’t care for belongings lost but so many have moved away.’
Tropical inconsistency twists and turns
green and lush
hibiscus and ginger
Ulysses and cattle
rust and mould
knock down- rebuild,
recovery whispers ‘the community might even be stronger.’
Headlines now die away
while rainforest patches return to green and height
Tully town goes for world records to change its story
Stripped away tin sheds and rotting shacks –
Are now scaled back
swept away for new buildings – shiny and new.
Youths run in evening sunset
framed by skeleton leaves
tracing out the strength within
some will stay and some move on
away from country childhood.
The sky will outlast them all?
until the day the Universe storms
stars explode
and a whole world dies to be born anew.
(c) June Perkins
