Deep blue sky unmarked by cloud or objects high
Longest shadows cast low upon journey’s path
Soul chilling clamminess battles warming morning
Lively zombies walking jogging ambling waving
Covid-19 avoidance strategies employed
Brazen blooms bounce in the gentle breeze
Poincianas advance into skeletal slumber
Dew laden blades tightly packed unmoving
Noisy silence interspersed with staccato birdsong trilling
Strangeness of feeling being part of the ab-usual un-normal
As an introvert, I internalise thoughts, plans, and visual goals. This melding of components, under extreme pressure, occurs unseen. Beads of perspiration may appear, due mainly to the subtropical climate.
The intuitive part of my personality loves to explore, discover, and try new things. In moments of pure idealism, perfection is obtainable. The reality, dear reader, frequently disappoints.
Being a perceptive, details sometimes elude me. If I read ‘fork’ in relation to finishing a pasty recipe, connections happen in my mind. Fork translates into crimping the pasty, rather than using it to create holes to vent the steam.
The love and emotion that is conjured to aid the creative process is boundless. The onion, carrot, and sweet potato are diced to regulatory perfection. Around a quarter the size of a sweet corn kernel. While the pastry is smooth, short, and even. Is it surprising, when pointed out after exiting the oven, the pastry is strange, the crimping Devonian rather than Cornish and the carrots and sweet potatoes undistinguishable from each other, feelings may explode?
The adult sized ‘Quornish’ pasties were an experiment. Accompanied with vegetarian gravy, deliciously satisfying.
Back in November 2019 I posted about Albert Street Uniting Church. It can be glimpsed behind the righthand roo. The one with the joey’s legs poking out of her pouch.This heartwarming bronze family gaze across Saint George’s Square towards Brisbane City Hall. An Italian Renaissance style building designed by architects, Thomas Ramsay Hall and George Gray Prentice.The building opened in 1930. It has been used for royal receptions, pageants, orchestral concerts, civic greetings, flower shows, school graduations and political meetings.
Maybe aliens visit our minds.
Could they constitute some unseen mass of writhing brain probing tentacles? Reading, testing, measuring, analysing the subjects in a great experiment of human life, on a single planet in the cosmos.
Antimatter, inadvertently, stimulating synapses; producing ideas, inspiration, revelations, and answers to oft perplexing questions. I wonder if one’s muse is alien intervention.
Do they occasionally, take control, resulting in actions out of character? Are they represented in prodigy, prophecy and genius? Those who appear non conforming of societal norms. Are they more or less in tune with the puppetry of the Universe?
The movie Being John Malkovich lurks, malevolently, in my consciousness.
Having more than the average, five;
Projects ones thoughts into longer term.
Drawing out syllables, rhyming parts:
‘Temp – Schemmp’, ‘por – more’, and ‘rary – praery’.
Magically feeding self-denial.
A state of mind, as well known as the,
Skittish nature of often absent,
Fleeting muse. One certainty, in time,
All things good, bad, indifferent shall pass.
Colours to delight:
Beneath bright golden veneer of respectability;
Strong sense of black and white, right and wrong.
Consistently, calmly, controlling, checks and balances.
Within an organised mind of professional standing;
Team player, relationship builder, extraordinaire.
Seriously, delivering on goals for stakeholders, all.
Now and then, chink appears.
Mischievous smile, reveals;
The darkness shining through.
In this age of unreal digitalis,
Two species; dead and alive.
Overlaid in unintentional way.
For this, homeward traveller,
One missed heartbeat of joy. In the moment,
He returns to capture it.
Post or pole, what are the definitions?
Stirring thoughts, connotations.
Is height a factor to be considered?
Vertical ground bound, are posts.
T’other hang angled; online truth obtained.
Garlanded or wreathed by leaves?
Both appear to suit this situation.
As with notice, frame seems best.
Insta or blog worthy? Driven by will,
This inspired author conjures
Prose. Ten, seven rythmn, no rhyming here.
End in sight; high time to close!
We arrived in the harbour city of Sydney, New South Wales on 17 January 1998. For the first ten years we did not consider living anywhere else.
The face of our chosen suburb, Newtown, gradually threw off its grungy working class garb. Gentrification crept through the streets. Great news for house prices as rough edges of the area were smoothed. For the niche bars, retailers and eateries, rising rents pushed them out.
Pushchairs replaced colourful characters, walking goats and parrots. Foot paths barely coped with the jam of people, spilling from increased apartment living.
Joining the exodus, we made our way, step by step west to aircraft noisy Stanmore then sleepy Petersham before landing in luscious Leichhardt. In hindsight, we should have settled here, instead of chasing the bright lights of Newtown.
Arriving too late to secure a residence we journeyed 917 kms north (570 miles) to Morningside. The vibe in Queensland is more relaxed than we are used to. Ignoring the Summer daylight saving implemented by other states, Queenslanders arise and retire early to bed.
Here we are in the river city of Brisbane, celebrating 22 years in Australia. Uncertain of where life will take us next.