Mercy, sweet mercy

A newly hatched song

Come into my life

New song...

the night closes her hands
around my ever needy soul.
the waters play their tune
as lamp light shines silver
across the bay.
i am restless
searching, seeking,
as an unseen hand steadies
my chaos.
solitude; silence singing
my souls story.
I am listening
to words
that I wish were not there.
but, listen I must,
and listen I will.
oh island, your rocky shore
has me shipwrecked,
and in your beauty
i am remote and reclused.
the lamp light plays white
upon the night ripples
and I am safe in the arms of
this place of peace.
quiet night,
gentle dark,
a star to wish by
and the divine ear that hears
the turmoil of my heart.
your answer has come
before my cry.

todays heat is carried on the wind
a relentless, energy sapping nor' wester.
even the water beneath the trees lies listless,
the birds have given up flying
and only a noisy cricket bothers to sing.
it's snake sunning weather,
snakes and lizards warming their blood
under a yellow sun.
a procession of ants beats a tracks
across my kitchen sink.
perhaps they have found last nights left overs
their busy bodies have such chaotic purpose
like traffic on a freeway, they stream left and right
narrowly avoiding collision.
it's summer, a hot, Sydney summer,
a sweltering, dripping, beer drinking summer.
the beaches overflow with umbrellas, towels
and squealing children
and, at days end,
a long procession winds it's way
back to the suffocating furnaces
of sweltering streets with their little middle class boxes
neatly trimmed and wrapped with a saturday full
of house proud husbandry.
Perhaps a storming is brewing thunder behind the hills
that rise fence like marking the edge of the city's sprawl
Dark angry clouds bringing relief to the scortching concrete of
brick and tile suburban life.
it's summer here in Sydney
and we are hiding from the heat.

A new day,
washed fresh and clean
hung under blue sky,
softly sunning
in clear morninglight.
I pad about,
within the seconds that wind into
minutes and hours,
silent, gentle,
so conscious of sights and sounds
that dance about my senses.
It is summer, brim full
of bird song and water ripple,
the soft splashing as yesterdays salt
is washed from today's shoreline,
dinghies to-ing and fro-ing,
trailing white wash
ever busy with their
outboard spluttering.
This island hides from the city hussle,
turning her back on the ceaseless energy
that saps the city of life.
We islanders play
a thousand miles from care,
and five minutes away.
I see them,
across the waterway,
so blue and glimmer-full,
in cars and buses,
racing against their clocks
counting down deadlines
relentlessly driving through
the unseen day.
City life is so blind,
our eyes are full of traffic lights
and the car in front,
enemies stealing our relentless haste
hurling it back in a cloud of chemicals.
I am sitting quiet,
on my island's shores
feeling the gift
of this hour,
still and soft,
above and around me.
I am paused,
not waiting or wanting.