Monday, November 30, 2009




They walked, they passed, they sat, they breathed.
I clicked. And it was done.
They are preserved in the dark for ever.
I walked out and enjoyed the sun.

Another trick of light here:


Imagine yourself a mouse with this lovely yellow corn!
You don't feel particularly small, for that's how you were born!
Your 'hands' aren't tiny to you; they seem a natural size.
You look out onto a mouse-sized world with your lovely big brown eyes.
Of course, some creatures are HUGE; you think they call them men.
And TINY creatures, like ants, you step on now and again.
But a mouse-size is just right; it's the size things were meant to be
For, of course, the world was made for mice as anyone can see.
And this corn is the size of a hefty meal; you hold it in two paws;
You can chomp on it for quite a while, licking your lips, because
It was made this size for a mouse to eat whenever corn is in season.
Yes, the whole world is fashioned mouse-size for one particular reason;
Mice are the Lords of Creation; the world is correctly sized.
So if you find that Heaven's full of mice don't be surprised!

More important mice here:

Blue Bonnets





Eight years ago when Blake was three
He took his bike down to the sea
And he was happy as can be.
Blue Bonnets!

And now his cousin, Max, is three.
And there's a similarity!
It makes me feel Grandmotherly!
Blue Bonnets!
In praise of families here:

America the ?



All a-glitter, razzle-dazzle,
Movie magic on display.
Everything so ultra-modern,
Ritzy people at their play.
I looked on in awe from England
Caught up in the cine-scene.
As to all the woes and problems.......
Must I view a 'could-have-been'?

Is the answer here?

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Two Sisters

Maurice Denis


What lies behind their enigmatic faces?
What tragedies have claimed their waxen cheeks?
The eyes are hooded and I see the traces
Of words unspoken where no warm mouth speaks.
The artist gives no clue to their importance;
An air of mystery pervades the scene.
And odd it is that for their skin he's chosen
A hue of pale and almost sickly green!
I must call-up a tale to fill the spaces.
I must imagine what I cannot know.
For sure no happiness is here depicted.
The painting speaks of grey and grinding woe.
So where, I wonder can we make a starting?
Where can we find a point where truth begins?
Their closeness? Yes! Felicity and Honour!
Two middle-aged and most devoted twins.
They've given-up their lives to nurse their father;
Now he has died; they're seated by his bed.
Imprisoned by obedience for the decades
Now they are rudderless since he is dead.
The women mourn for Father (it's their duty)
And they fear the future now that he is gone,
And yet, I see a light behind the eyelids!
Which one will first say
'Sister! Life goes on!' ?

Another sort of sisterhood here:

The Pink Rose




Oh! How pinkly pretty!
How miraculously pure!
Not a blemish! Not a freckle!
A work of art for sure.
Was she really that uncrumpled?
That uncreased? That fresh and bright?
Was the day a little cloudy
Yet she was bathed in light?
The young girls of that era
Must have gazed at this in awe
Thinking her the ultimate;
The best they ever saw!
And did they suffer heartache
Because their skins were beige
With here and there the evidence
Of swiftly-advancing age?
Today we talk of models
Who're almost skin and bone,
And we worry that our young girls
May compare and weep alone.
But surely in the old days
Comparisons were made
And 'teenagers' were haunted
By that dire phrase 'an old maid'!
This pinkly perfect poppet
Has been air-brushed, in a way.
The artist's brush transformed her
And that is how she'll stay.

A totally different pink here:

Sunday Diary

November 29th
This has been a very full week, but I suppose things will accelerate right up to Christmas now. Here in the Southern Hemisphere we are in a different situation from all comparative societies, because the end of the year really IS the end of the year, in that it corresponds to an American or British mid-year. School ends and the long holidays correspond with Christmas. The New Year really IS new, with little children starting school etc. And, because of this we seem to get a double dose of parties etc. And all when the weather is steamy! I'm not complaining but......

Our local politics have become rather heated too. Malcolm Turnbull, the Opposition leader, wants to side with the Government on the matter of Climate Change, before Kevin goes to Copenhagen, but half Malcolm's party wants to hold back and his leadership is being threatened. Great angst all round. What thick hides politicians need to have!

At least he's good-looking!

On MONDAY Malcolm (Bryant) and I traveled down to the Central Coast to hear a friend's choir. During the course of the concert they performed one of my little plays so that was good for the ego!When they lined up at the end I also took a bow.

I'm the little blue person on the right.

On TUESDAY evening Malcolm and I were invited to dinner at a retirees' gathering, and I entertained with some of my sillier poems. I was delighted with this flattering picture of me in full flight!

In my element!

Theatricals held sway on WEDNESDAY as well, but this time I wasn't involved. A group of us went down to Sydney too see the musical 'Wicked'. I usually just put-up with the two-hour journey, but it so happened that I found myself in a very congenial group both going and returning, and I reveled in the social chatter. The journeys passed in a flash. However I did NOT enjoy the show. While the singing, costumes, scenery, effects etc were great, I found the story tedious and inconsequential, and the music uninspiring.

TheTwo Witches.

The Five Friends

THURSDAY was a much more relaxed day. Becca and I took Max to the beach as the weather was divine; not too hot, thank goodness! The Children's pool was being cleaned so we had to use the Ladies' pool , built in the mid 19th century to prevent the ladies seeing the naked men in the surf!

The Ladies' Pool.
FRIDAY became theatrical again, but not to any great extent. I wasn't happy with our last production of the 'Pirate' melodrama; things beyond our control threw us out of kilter. So we had an extra rehearsal at my house today and that was fun.

On SATURDAY I went to Marketown to do photocopying and I went very early to be sure of a parking spot.Sure enough, by the time I'd finished a little shopping the place was packed. I can't say the hectic nature of Christmas thrills me much. Becca came for the evening with Blake, as Brian was on Fireman duty down in Sydney. We had a low-key evening of pizza and a fairly so-so TV film, but it's always lovely to spend time in her company.

Till next week,


Saturday, November 28, 2009

Shadow Shuffle

Down at the Olive Tree Markets on a Saturday in Spring
There was quite a rush,
Almost a crush,
As each searched for 'that little thing'.
And the shadows were stirred like a pudding underneath all the scuffling feet.
And we met and talked
And sat and walked
And life seemed very sweet.
Another market here:

Colourful Carolers



Looking cheerful and rather pretty,
Australian ladies sing a ditty
Written in Britain long ago
Something about 'when the winds do blow'.
The Choir Mistress said 'We must look rural,
Like English lasses on a mural,
So bedeck yourselves with blossoms gay
In an Englishy-rurally sort of way.'
So here's the result, a flowery feast
Which doesn't look English in the least!
Never mind, it's the thought that counts,
And they brought joy in large amounts.

More choristers, more colour here

Magnolia Magic

Mark Shasha


Made from moonlight mixed with magic
Arching overhead in Spring
Gleaming with a snowy glamour!
Nothing else makes my heart sing.

Opalescent petals folded,
Leaves a dark and lustrous green.
I can gaze up at your branches
And admire your shimmering sheen.
Shadows on the garden wall

Show where your fading blooms will fall.

Very special blossoms here:

The Quirks

Gerald Gee


I sing in praise of the quirky mind
However it may be defined;
People who see things differently
From prosaic people like you and me!
Gerald, in his quaint cartooning
(Over which I'm often swooning)
Latches-on to oddities
Which are always sure to please!
Yes! We live in a world of magic!
And yes! The witches were vilely tragic.
Had our technology been predicted
The soothsayer would have been evicted,
Ducked in the pond or set on fire
On the village 'funeral' pyre!
Had any 'witch' envisioned blogging
She'd have been given a damn good flogging!
It's such an intriguing consideration,
Such a curious situation!
It never would have occurred to me!
Thank you, thank you Gerald Gee!

This 'witch' predicts that you would all like to see more of Gerald's work at

Friday, November 27, 2009

Immigrannit! Pommigrannit!



'Immigrannit! Pommigrannit!' little children used to cry
When a child who'd come from England happened to be passing by!
Those who'd traveled to Australia from their rainy land of birth
Were treated with extreme derision, mockery and cruel mirth.
Quite unused to brilliant sunshine, they would burn and go bright red.
'You look like a pomegranate!' all the taunting locals said.
And it's true, their rosy colour with it's painful fiery glow
Resembled pomegranates in their glory, putting on a fruitful show.
'Immigrannit! Pommigrannit!' echoed round the old school yard
And, no doubt, the little children found the taunting very hard.
Time went by and 'Pom!' was shouted and that word is used today.
I'm a 'Pom' and I accept that, feeling cherished, in a way.
Greeks, Italians, other peoples ousted 'Poms' as novelties,
Now we're old-hat and the 'strangers' are the folk who're Vietnamese!
Integration happens slowly but it happens by and by.
A word now spoken with affection started as a taunting cry.


A different view here:

A Whimsy


Heaven must be blue and sunny
Except the evenings, which are pink.
All is sweet, as sweet as honey,
Very charming I should think.
Even though it's heavenly
Never save a place for me!

Madly Mauve


What a scene of elegance! What a scene of charm!
Underneath the jacaranda, far from all alarm.
Springtime in Australia in days of long ago,
When parlour-maids delivered tea and the pace of life was slow.
But jacarandas now, as then, lose petals all the time!
They look so pretty floating down! Objection is a crime!
They carpet lawn and path and bench as far as the eye can see.
And Mr and Mrs Perfection, here, will get petals in their tea!

A more lyrical view of jacaranda here:

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Dust Storm!



In the olden days when I was young
And tunes with pretty words were sung,
Love would come, oh me oh my,
'Out of an orange-coloured sky'!
And sunsets with an orange hue
Encouraged lovers to bill and coo.
So the colour orange was much admired
For the passions it inspired.
But dust storms, straight from Australia's heart,
Can't be compared with works of art.
They choke the air, they dim the eyes,
They slow the cars, they paralyze.
Their residue is orange dust
The colour of some ancient rust.
They leave behind their own perfume:
'Eau de Musty' in each room.
This was my first and now it's past.
I hope sincerely it's the last!

More fickle weather here:

Dressed to Kill!



Decorated like a painting
Red the colour of his choice
Entering the great arena
Soon to make the crowds rejoice.
Silence falls as he's appearing,

Every eye is turned on him
ressed to kill a noble creature

Totally engrossed and grim.
lay!' they cry in their excitement;

'Kill the bull! Let us see gore!
If you're damaged, well, so be it!
Let us cheer you more and more!'
ater, when the bull is dead,

See his costume stained with red.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Surprise! Surprise!

Letter 'S'


Alfred Hitchcock, of movie fame, (and now as dead as mutton)
Wasn't like the rest of us! He had no belly-button!
When you sneeze the rest of you also plays its part;
Everything ceases to function! Even your beating heart!
Babies have no knee-caps! Feel a knee and see!
But they grow up to be knee-capped, just like you and me.
Five years of your lifetime will be spent standing in a line
Probably obeying a little 'Wait here!' sign!
The toothbrush was invented in 1498!
I bet you never would have guessed at such an early date!

Some Home Hints here:

Tuesday, November 24, 2009



The words to play with this week come from
Keats 'Ode To a Nightingale'

My heart aches and a drowsy  numbness pains my senses....


My heart aches and a drowsy numbness
Pains my senses through and through.
My love has left me and I wrestle
With the anguish flowing through...
Through my heart and very being
Like a poison in my veins,
All the love I had to give her
As a bitter taste remains.
Chloe! Chloe! Why desert me
Just when love was flowing free!
Chloe! Chloe! We were learning
Just how wondrous love can be!
I am weeping tears so scalding
That they burn my pallid cheeks!
I can hear your voice within me
And how cruelly it speaks!
I remember, last September
That Mandy Peters let me down!
Who's that coming through the doorway?
Yummy! Here comes Phoebe Brown!

Slightly more  shattered here:

Monday, November 23, 2009

Count the Times.


If you visit this blog you will enjoy a wonderful rendition of the original
'Count Your Blessings.'


Count the times you say 'Hello!'
To someone new in every place you go.
It is really not too hard to do
It is something nice that far too few do.
Count the smiles that you bestow
On someone new who's looking rather low,
And when you leave you'll look behind and see
What magic's wrought by such a pleasantry.
Count the times you smile and say
Some simple words like 'Have a lovely day!'
If sincerity is in your eyes
You will find that's where a friendly high lies.
Count the times you give a grin,
No matter what the state your heart is in
And when you go to bed at close of day
You'll feel rewarded for your give-away.
P.S. I've always been in awful trouble with my family because I speak to strangers! My daughter, as a teenager, used to clutch my arm and hiss 'Mum! They don't want to know you!' But I still think my lack of self consciousness has been a boon rather than an embarrassment.

A very special smile here:

The Little Black Dress


I sing in praise of  The Little Black dress!
Always certain to impress.
Dress, it up or dress it down;
Wear in the country or in town.
Add a genuine row of pearls
To be the envy of other girls!
Add a scarf with nonchalance
And see who gets a second glance.
Add, at the hem, some fripperies
To draw attention to your knees!
Take care there's a decolletage
Unless your bosom's just too large!
Casually drop a shoulder
 (Not advisable if you're older!)
Cover-up to be surprising
Wear long sleeves (they're tantalising!)
Or cut right back to shoe-string straps;
If you're daring, just one, perhaps.
Make in old-time crepe-de-chine
On your old-time sewing-machine.
Or buy one at a posh boutique,
And look particularly sleek.
A little lace, still black, of course,
Would be a pretty tour de force!
Add, if you have one, a big jet ring!
Enhance the black with that extra bling.
Shoes with really teetering heels,
(Not good for dancing Scottish reels!)
Will make you look your legs look even longer;
You might be able to do the Conga!
But the Conga is, maybe, too Old Hat.
I hadn't really thought of that!
The Conga, my dear, is terribly dated
A Little Black Dress is sophisticated!
Which may explain this sad confession....
I haven't got one in my possession!
The choice of dress really matters here:

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Sunday Diary

November 22nd

After all the excitement, followed by ill-health, of last week, this week was remarkably normal. The only abnormal thing, and a very worrying one at that, is that the Summer Heat arrived a month early. November is usually fairly mild, but a Heatwave hit us this week and we've probably got to get used to that, because of Climate Change. I always felt the heat from December to March was over-the-top, but I must now think of it as 'November to April'! Thank goodness for air-conditioning, although one feels guilty using it! Of course, there were bush-fires too, although none in our area. The temperature reached 37 degrees on Friday!

A press photo of swimmers cooling-off at the Bogey Hole.

My own early-morning shot at Merewether Beach.

World news faded into the background this week, as my own personal affairs took-over. But we were all spellbound by the separation of the conjoined twins in Melbourne and by the fortitude of the legless Australian who crawled the Kokoda Trail.

Navigating a bridge in the jungle.

'My own personal affairs' weren't exactly mine, but a son and his lively family moving-in next-door is bound to impinge and it's all been quite exciting really. Greg came round a lot to check-up on things.

Here he is leaving on his bike after an inspection.

He then decided to repaint the walls! (He asked permission!) As you can see, he got pretty hot!

Sweaty work!

In our own lives there was a lesser flurry of excitement when we bought a new wide-screen TV. I don't like how it dominates the room, but the picture is great.

An icon on an icon.

On MONDAY and TUESDAY this week I was still without a voice and not very lively, so I did some Xmas letter-writing and sorting-out Melodrama 'gigs' for next year. The heatwave hadn't arrived then, so I had a pleasant relaxing time. In the evening on Tuesday we went to our Book Group. This was held at Anne's house up in the hills, where it was delightfully misty when we arrived. I got a shot but the sun had already set.

The gentle hills of the Hunter Valley.

On WEDNESDAY my Scrabble friends came round for a game and we had our usual convivial time. And on THURSDAY I went to the beach with Max and Becca. We were delighted that we managed to coax Max into deeper water. He actually laid down in it and said 'Water's nice!' so progress was made.

On the way home he fooled about in the flowers.

FRIDAY was dominated by Greg painting next-door. I didn't do anything to help but I was very aware that he was there, and I kept suggesting drinks etc. SATURDAY was a limbo sort of day. Greg and family were moving in next door. He had lots of burly male helpers (he'd hired a truck) and he assured me that there was nothing I could do, but I sort of hovered all day and felt unsettled. Anyway, they're in now, for better or worse. We spent the evening with friends Vera and Angus. When we got home the removal truck was still ferrying to and fro!

Till  next week

The Onlooker

I wrote this when I was in my twenties and, obviously, not doing too well in the romantic department!
It originally had a rather plaintive tune!
I am struck by the innocence of these fifty year old lyrics!


When they walk in the park on Sunday I watch them as they go
Two by two with a bill and coo,
Walking to and fro.
It's all so neat and practical, the way these things are done;
Moves sublimely tactical
Underneath the Sunday sun.
When they walk in the park on Sunday I feel like a wingless bird
Looking-on till life has gone;
Stupidly absurd.
My fate to always dream of things, my life my own affair.
They're all little cogs in the scheme of things
And I am just a spare!
When they walk in the park on Sunday I see with a jaundiced eye
How they smile and stop awhile
Just to gaze and sigh.
It's really so poetical, the way fond lovers act.
My knowledge is theoretical
While their's is solid fact.
Male disappointment here: 

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Sugared Almonds!



A dull day, threatening rain.
A grim railway waiting-room threatening boredom.
A magical sugared-almond window to lift my spirits!


Another look at the railway here:





He lived four hundred years ago
And yet I positively swear
I saw him only yesterday,
Though I admit he'd changed his hair!
That 'young-man' look was just the same!
That arrogance and feline grace,
That look of godlike certainty
Upon his condescending face!
Maybe the hands were less well-groomed;
'Yesterday' chewed his finger-nails!
But the 'young man' features were the same
The 'look' of post-pubescent males.
Change him in your imagination!
Go on ! Give him spiky hair!
Put a ring in his bottom lip
And a T-shirt (grubby) for him to wear!
You've met him too; I know you have!
Though this one's from the upper-crust.
Masculinity at its peak
Full of bravado, cut and thrust......
What a pity that all things come to dust.

Memories of the same here:




I don't possess an iPod;
I don't really desire one.
So I'm not in the market
To purchase or to hire one.
Melodies by the hundred
Can be heard at any minute,
Two hundred and forty items
They tell me it has in it!
But I recall the old days
Listening to the radio,
When sudden recognition
Brought a bright all-over glow!
I'd be standing at the sink
And the radio would be playing
And, suddenly, I'd be alert
As I heard the announcer saying
That 'my favourite tune' was next in line!
I'd stand there like a stone
As the music from some dance-band
Played for me alone.
And at the end I'd sort of sigh!
It had been quite sublime.
But now I knew I'd have to wait
Till it came around next time.
I'd hum the melody in my head
To hold-on to the pleasure.
So each particular hit-song
Became a special treasure.
But now, a finger-jab away,
Is quick gratification!
No waiting, yearning, hoping;
No desirous contemplation.
Quickly come, and quickly go,
Short-byte! One two three!
But where's that old-time magic?
The iPod's not for me!
Another cry from the heart here:

Friday, November 20, 2009

Pretty Polly

Polly Jones


Though you may search high and low
No parrot is around!
But the artist's name is Polly
And she has just been found!
No doubt other bloggers
Have had her on their list,
But her bright and brilliant artistry
Is something that I've missed.
She paints comfortable items
But imbues them with such verve!
Her spoons have such a shimmer!
Her glass has such a curve!
The paint is alway rich and moist!
The colours really sing!
Her flowers have the freshness
Of a never-ending Spring!
So I give my thanks to blogging;
It has given me the chance
To visit Polly's Place on line
And to see her colours dance.
Please visit Polly Jones!

Another artist; another message here:

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Risky Business!

(Don't Even Think About It!)


Don't even think about it! Use your common sense!
Only fools attempt to break the law!
Never do the wrong thing! You'll be labelled dense.
Traffic Cops are quite quick on the draw!
Every little speeding ticket adds to your regret;
Very soon the burden will be great.
Every fine you have to pay will multiply your debt,
Nothing can expunge it! It's your fate!
To think that you may kill someone or cause them to be maimed!
Heaven help us! Could you really live with that?
If a devil's in you, you must make sure that it's tamed.
Nightmares come from knocking people flat!
Keep you wits about you when you get behind the wheel!
And watch that old speedometer as well.
Break-neck speeds may often feel exciting and unreal.
Over-confidence can lead you straight to hell!
Unless you're stone-cold sober you must never, never drive!
Teetotallers are in charge of their thirst.
It's really much more pleasant if we all can stay alive.
Think about it! Think of Safety First!

Be sure your sins will find you out here:

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Rubaiyat Readings



Letter "R".



For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend--ourselves to make a Couch--for whom?
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End!
Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
And those that after some To-morrow stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
"Fools! Your Reward is neither Here nor There.
And when like her, oh, Saki, you shall pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,

And in your joyous errand reach the spot

Where I made One--turn down an empty Glass!"

Omar Khayyám from His Rubáiyát

The Comment

So Omar wrote! So were his words translated!
Some of the loveliest words, I think, created.
Maybe depressing, in a mournful way,
And yet with sweet emotions permeated.
When I was young 'The Rubaiyat', I said,
Answered the questions streaming through my head.
In other tomes I read of life immortal,
But this work showed me where my living led.
My copy is now threadbare, old and worn;
I see some pages are becoming torn,
But still that tiny book reveals to me
That we are dying from the day we're born.
'Nothingness'.....What a very soothing thought;
So much more hopeful than the other sort.
'Life everlasting' hasn't the appeal,
When I'm considering the last resort.
Omar Khayyam has given me the key
To cope with what most certainly will be.
So long as someone's 'turning down a glass'
I'll raise one to no longer being me.
Brenda Bryant from Her Blog!
A more lighthearted look at the Grim Reaper here: