Eleven Ways of Looking at the Wind

1

I was like a tree

In which the wind dwells.

 

2

Over all the earth,

The only thing that never ceases

Are the eyes of the wind.

 

3

Many things may dance in the wind

But it is the wind that is the major part of the pantomime.

 

4

A husband and a wife

Are one.

A husband and a wife and the wind

Can be one.

 

5

The movement of grasses like oceans

The swaying of trees like dancers

The whirl of dust and cloud like dervishes

All of which the wind is involved in

 

6

There are tidal patterns and magnetic lines

Circadian rhythms and lunar seasons

Domains of electricity, magnetism and gravity

All of which the wind is involved in

 

7

There are many beauties in this world

Inflection, innuendo, nuance,

grace in a child, mercy from an enemy

The wind gives it all.

 

7

It goes where no one knows, 

Having come from who knows where.

It criss-crosses the earth in obtuse fashions

Carrying enigmatic ciphers whose importance is unfathomable

 

8

Striving after the wind is like grasping for wisdom

Yet wisdom is gained by His word whispered into the ear.

 

9

O wise men of Behistun,

Why do you imagine a golden child?

Do you not understand the gold, frankincense, and myrrh you present

Is given to you by the wind?

 

10

The wind is strong. 

It may not be withstood

Yet it can be commanded to cease

By His word.

 

11

It is clear that the wind belongs to Him

The snorting of His nostrils, His breath, His life.

O that I would know the wind

And He would know me.

 

MDC August 2021

Scarecrow

Reaping from what’s been sown, 

I eat the fruit of loneliness; abandonment

my only asset. Left to stand in the rain, 

rooted in solitude, torn by the wind which 

whips my pleas into the whitewashed welkin, 

clothed only in the rags of disrespect and 

condemnation, my vestments mirroring the 

vitriol of my accusers. I am judged for ineffectively 

managing my role - keeping my field clear 

of crows. But at least they keep me company.

MDC

Dec 2020

Dawn

 

Dawn kneels quietly at my window, 

peering in, gently waking me. 

The fringe of the morning, the cool blue of first light 

as the moon's ardour wanes and cornsilk yellow 

silently ushers in the sun, crowned in its 

helmet of gold, bringing light’s unsingable psalm.

The dawn's demure revelation of another day, 

crowned with grace and provisioned with new mercies, 

eclipses the gaudy glory of a day's cessation, 

the grandeur of a sunset incapable of matching 

the nobility of the envoy bringing 

life and hope to all.

MDC 

April 2021

Imogen

Ethereal zeal seeded me in 

a watery womb 

I was a wet wastrel, hunger 

my only emotion

My infant days spent dreaming in 

slivers of wind, 

my devotion the promise of rain 

Sky was my playground, clouds my toys. 

Directionless, but not without route, I went 

from meandering to wandering, 

from cruise to jet. 

I flew here and there until I was travelling 

in circles. 

I discovered I like travelling in circles,

picking the gleanings from field and yard,

fervently funneling everything into my tunnel. 

Eating makes a girl thirsty so I sucked 

on the teat of your warm seas. I fed 

my strength until my arms flailed and 

anger was discovered in my loins.

I became single-eyed in my purpose -  

for you to know the full force of 

my fists. So I came in swinging, 

a torqued ellipse, ignoring your 

futile idols, turning roofs into tinsel, 

stuffing my maw with animal, 

vegetable and mineral, your flesh 

and blood.  I caught you - a deer in 

headlights. My cyclops eye snuck up 

behind you, seized you unaware 

dreaming of a high. I vibrated your 

glass until it sang siren song -  

smithereened silver 

splintering your houses, your 

households, your hearts. I trashed 

your plans, exposed your pretense. 

I laughed at your puerile projections

Despite all the warnings you had 

no defence. 

You mumbled last rites, screamed 

your prayers, but I confronted no 

retribution and though my life was 

short it was very sweet. You will 

remember me long after I 

have gone.

And now I have gone, 

remember this as you sweep 

your streets and 

collect your dignity - I am 

not an only-child. 

My siblings long to make your 

acquaintance too.

 

Autumn in Toowoomba

Solicitous as a maitre de

the autumn dawn arrives filigreed with

the warble of wagtail and finch

Cumulus measle the grey sky

Ironbarks discuss needless alibi while

lawyer-gowned magpies hypothesize over the breakfast menu

The day unfolds to reveal

some drunk’s vomit congealed in

the gutter joining the stench of rotting leaves and diesel

Dusk settles with the authority

of ceaseless repetition as

the silent majority make their way home from work

Fast-food dishes of pizza and noodle

Eaten in front of programs with scant scruples as

the remora of twilight’s grey skin, the blue wash of digital

screens, appear on-cue

MDC

April 2018

The Pleasure of Sounds

The symphony of cicadas,

conducted by calendar, not hormones

The conversation of trees,

discoursing branches batting pros and cons back and forth

The raucous romp of rain,

gurgling and gargling its journey down the gutters

The aria of birds

rivaling a heavenly choir

Sausages on the barbeque,

arguing with snap and sizzle

The peals of playing children,

their lilting laughter calling to Evensong

The weekend reprise,

either boisterous pandemonium or quiet somniloquy

The humming of my wife,

quietly administering the household chores

MDC

6/2/2018

Summer Week-ends

I love this time of year. Late Spring - early Summer.The weather is the catalyst, as is the pending holiday break. And although the weather can be a little unsettled this time of year, it never intrudes on events because I can enjoy a beer on the patio looking at my garden whether it's raining or not. 

My week-ends commence with a conundrum of decision. To barbecue or not barbecue? That is the question. If barbecuing, should I smoke the meat or simply throw it on the hotplate?

I love the lazy afternoons filled with cicada symphonies, far-off dog barks, a farther-off car horn, the uncomfortable caress of bottle brush against the side of the house, the wind turning ten thousand pages in the camphor laurels. 

Friends dropping in and deciding to stay longer than intended. 

I love the sizzle and snap of sausages on the hotplate, their fragrance overpowering the mock orange.

The happy sounds of children playing in water - whether in the neighbour's pool or the unexpected splash of water when a gust of wind blows the fountain spray across their path as they run around the yard.

The gentle late-afternoon breeze that brings relief from the hot day and, with it, a scent of a possible thunder storm. 

I love too the relief that comes when I realise that this down-time is enough to recover my strength and composure after a hard week, knowing I am facing another one.

Oh, yes. I love this time of year.

Winter

The wind’s blowin’ leaves across the street

It’s sure getting cold down ‘round here.

Westerlies start blowin’; rain turns to sleet

I could easily hate this place this time of year.

Water from the fountains fall across the paths,

Everywhere the grass is turning yellow.

Wood fires, and pine-cones crackling in hearths

Fashion styles for women are more mellow.

Tree-tops toss and writhe in the windy gusts,

All of Nature’s starting to look bleak.

Hot-food shops cater for people’s hunger-lusts,

And the colour of the gardens become weak.

The sky is grey-blue ashen, rather overcast

Sparrows cry and wheel upon the wing

Sunshine wanes; its time of reign is past

And people’s hearts are yearning for the spring.

MDC 14/05/81

A new wind blowing

There was this Greek guy called Aesop who became famous for a whole lot of pithy sayings, one of which was, "The little grapes are the sweetest". 

Life is made up of big things and little things. I don't know about you but my life has probably been 20% big things and 80% little. If we live by just the big things, then there is a whole lot of life we miss out on. And upon reflection, oft times, the joy in the small things is just as good as in the big events.

I've just moved to Kleinton. It's not really Toowoomba, but it's so close, and I've lived in Toowoomba for so long, I'm still going to be calling myself a Toowoomba boy.

One of the little things I discovered about Kleinton is that there is almost always a breeze blowing. This is not a startling revelation. It's not worthy of a comment on the evening news. It's not even something I would normally mention in conversation, let alone in a blog post. 

Maybe it's because moving house this week has been one of those big events in life. The days have been filled with cleaning, packing and unpacking, moving furniture, looking for lost items, moving more furniture, finding treasured items broken, discovering things thought to have been lost in a previous move, feeling exhausted from dawn to dusk and by the time it hits mid-afternoon the day already seems to have exceeded its 24 allotted hours. It's right then that the cool breeze has been very welcome indeed.

Regardless of where you live (even if you have the misfortune of not living in Toowoomba) make sure you take notice of the small things that happen around you. They very well may be the things that get you through the big thing that is transpiring in your life right now.

The child-bride is calling. Apparently there is more furniture that needs to be moved.