Outside the sky is polished silver
Thunder ripples
Sky gongs bonged to call distraction to attention
My brain is grinding words slowly
Granular meaning, awkwardly applied
The plumbing is rusty from lack of flow
Many are discarded
Few make the cut
My dog jerks at another roll of thunder
I murmur words of distracted comfort
She stretches with the shyness of a pet not usually allowed this far inside the house
I wonder if that is how the words feel
When first they are invited to enter again
Writers really shouldn’t take breaks
But here we are
The sputtery spurt
Noise in the pipes
Mostly wind
Like water, poetry runs buried deep
It takes awhile to bring it to the surface
But first, you have to know where it is
*Header Photo Coolum – I love the way the tree seems to lean down toward the ocean, as if it is listening to the wisdom of the waves. I do that too when I visit. Usually I’m a person who finds it difficult to sit still, waves have a mesmerising, calming effect. Perhaps it’s the magnesium and salt that drifts off their crashing and into our system or just the sheer beauty, probably a combination of both.

I marvel at that hanging tree!
And I only saw it when I stopped trying to capture the ocean and turned around 😊