Poems by Wendy Blaxland
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Another summer day
by Wendy Blaxland
From Canary Summer 2021
Wendy’s home nestles among native Australian bush edging Lane Cove National Park above a creek which roars after rain. Water dragons sun themselves on old boulders shouldering out of the thin Hawkesbury sandstone soil. And huge gum trees provide hole-homes for screeching sulphur-crested cockatoos, crimson-headed king parrots, and gossiping flocks of vibrant rainbow lorikeets.
I float in our pellucid pool:
recognise cicadas across the gully thrumming for a mate,
breathe the swooning scent of fresh pittosporum flowers,
spy a blue-gum shrugging down a scroll of ochre bark
to show her smooth white neck
rising from that rough-frilled gown.
© Wendy Blaxland
Another Summer Day
by Wendy Blaxland
From Canary Summer 2022
I float in our pellucid pool:
recognise cicadas across the gully thrumming for a mate,
breathe the swooning scent of fresh pittosporum flowers,
spy a blue-gum shrugging down a scroll of ochre bark
to show her smooth white neck
rising from that rough-frilled gown.
© Wendy Blaxland
Spring to summer
by Wendy Blaxland
From Canary Summer 2021
Ah, no - our lush wisteria blooms are finishing.
All that velvet grace and scent
is fading, falling, gone.
But look – quietly in the wings
of the great spring carnival of flowers
wait a thousand white star jasmine buds,
still furled and folded
like miniature umbrellas,
embroidered on a carpet of green leaves.
Hold your breath.
When the silent conductor nods to them
and flicks a gleaming ray
from his baton just so,
they will unfurl in slow silence
and twirl their way
into the spotlight of our sight,
slow-mo open
into dizzying whorls of scent,
like Sufi mystics
twirling in their trance dance
older than the sun...
Luca Camellini, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
© Wendy Blaxland
Spring to Summer
by Wendy Blaxland
From Canary Summer 2022
Ah, no - our lush wisteria blooms are finishing.
All that velvet grace and scent
is fading, falling, gone.
But look – quietly in the wings
of the great spring carnival of flowers
wait a thousand white star jasmine buds,
still furled and folded
like miniature umbrellas,
embroidered on a carpet of green leaves
Hold your breath.
When the silent conductor nods to them
and flicks a gleaming ray
from his baton just so,
they will unfurl in slow silence
and twirl their way
into the spotlight of our sight,
slow-mo open
into dizzying whorls of scent,
like Sufi mystics
twirling in their trance dance
older than the sun...
© Wendy Blaxland