Moon 8

Ah, I see you're the better half
but of what? or whom?
Striking out across the black hole
we call night, reflecting
all that light, you take up
the whole view, splashing your
talents through the gloom.
Your other half does not exist.
Or that's what we assume.

30 Poems in 30 Days Day 2

First, you have to set up spreadsheets.

Make sure the formulas took.

Correct the errors, be gracious

with suggestions about links.

Call around the country, checking

correcting, coaching.

Call around the country again

advising changes, checking, correcting

coaching.

Take calls from around the country -

explanations, changes, refusals to change.

File the returned spreadsheets

without overwriting the one you want.

Make new files with combined tabs.

Send them on to HQ with blessings.

And emails which suggest

you are confident

you got it right, but add

"Please call to correct and coach."

(my first regional budget cycle)

Moon 7
and 30 Poems in 30 Days - road trip

A quarter of the way through
the sky carded silk and mohair
pale milky green and grey
the sun staining a boat-shaped
piece of sky, anaemic blood.

Dangerously, I peer from
the car, upwards. There you are
moon, embedded in bleached fluff.
I imagine your light sticking
to car's roof, riding me home.

I soon forget these conceits
blinded by oncoming headlights
on roller-coaster roads after dark.

It's already September 3rd here, and I'm behind with my 30 Poems in 30 Days project. So here's the first one.

Love

From my newly set up writing room
I watch a breeze tickling only the very tops
of peppercorn, eucalypt and acacia.

Now it reaches down to wands
of purple-sleeved rosemary where
bees dance and do their own tickling.

Honeyeaters mimic the bees, flitting
from one blossom-laden branch
to another, burying eager beaks in the nectar.

Straps of cordyline flap, the wind diving
to ground, stirring everything but
the stiff spiky yucca shafts.

Massive clumps of marigolds, tall
seeding rocket with its frail white offerings
and ageing herbs remind me I must work.

Work in the garden, that is, going
where gently moving air does not -
Spring cleaning the gravel paths

clearing the paving of weeds that trip
pulling out the kale I saved from snails
but went to seed, not leafy food.

It's not the work that I love. I watch
this crowd, stirred by peaceful forces,
and feel blessed they let me belong.

Moon 6

Central Business District, dusk

Multitudes of headlights compete
shards of glass on tower walls mock

of course, you being a rock
care not, while I must not retreat

must fulfil my mission, trace
the space above Telstra's narrow tower

to see a sign of older, longer-lasting power
your brighter and ancient face.

Moon 5

You told me all I needed to know.
It wasn't my imagination
We were flopping around on the North Sea
Those crashing sounds came from crockery
And wasted litres of whisky
What was bolted down came unhinged
I was one of the few not seasick
Could not bury myself in a cabin
Sat watching the sea's paws attempting
To  clutch us, pull us down
Earlier, breathing vomitous fumes
I watched you through the porthole
Tumbling back and forth in a sky
Where all other guiding lights
Had drowned.

Moon 4

Hey, I found you moon!
Excuse my lunacy ha ha
Was looking out the back door
while you soared into the night
out the front, a classic
nursery rhyme version
a rock-a-bye cradle.
At the same time, as sharp 
as an upholstery needle
renovating the stark black.
Miraculous satellite, and source
of wonder, I marvel
that your wholeness, unlit,
is completely visible.