Day 8 Two for Tuesday
Violent/ Peaceful
Hard to imagine
flash flood, raging torrent,
a dam ready to burst,
coastlines vanishing under
rising imperatives.
Outside crickets chirrup,
The blackness is warmly
wet, water drops gently,
quietly, as if
telling you a secret.
Drive safely, I say.
She toots three times.
Wet tail lights shimmer
like jewels in amber.
Day 9 a shelter poem
Deserted Haven
The hawk, apparently desperate,
left a legacy of caution, uncertainty
and a fear of further losses.
A few survivors of the raid
still visit, drink at their favourite
bars of nectar-heavy blossom.
A willie wagtail has taken charge
of the insect smorgasbord
sheltering under shade cloth.
Inspector of expenses and profits
I watch from my home office
for returns and gains.
The willie wagtail trills the whole day.
He wants answers to his questions.
Thwarted, he hops onto my neighbour’s shed.
The trees are taller, thicker, there.
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