The trees that blow in summer breeze
strip off their bark with careless ease
then dip their toes in waters there
without a thought, without a care.

Their leafy features casting shade
across the woodland’s green parade,
next to the waters of the creek
that as they rush to river, speak;

with babbling state their endless quest
to meet the ocean and find rest,
to all and sundry standing near,
to anyone who stays to hear.

Like birds that fossick for the worm
or grubs within the soil turned,
to possums sleeping in the trees,
in daylight hours taking ease.

We move across the greensward sway
to listen to its woodland say
the many pleasures and its cheer
to taste the waters’ foaming beer;

brewed in the mountains of delight
to then descend from greatest height.
Rolled down to them in barrel time
of high country and acres climb;

arrived from place where cattle graze
on rugged pastures where they gaze
upon the sky and watery clouds
formed from the lowlands and surrounds.

Rain weeps its tears of purest bliss
to grace the earth with gentle kiss
and roll delightfully to speak
into the hurried, rushing creek.

© G. Burns 11-Jan-2013

I looked into the mirror,
Saw that I was naked,
Nothing hidden from view;
I stood
Somewhat ridiculous,
Totally exposed.

Folds of flesh
Making mockery
Of thought and mind.
A civilised veneer
Peeled away and
All revealed.

Chill rose from the tiles
Reflected in
Stark black and white;
Behind me warmth,
But winter grey seeped into
My reflection.

I saw myself there,
Naked,
Striped back to the essential;
Not much to see,
Nothing to desire,
Just me.

© G. Burns 2-Jan-2013

The sky of blue and golden threads,
the breeze that tousles leafy heads,
cicadas singing in the grass
of fragile longings, hopes that last

nested snugly on day’s breast
taking solace amidst the tests
of summer time with mid day heat,
no evening breeze yet gives relief.

Sun creeps slowly over sky,
us older ones so softly sigh;
recalling times of youthful bliss,
of chasing girls who tease and kiss.

Remember how they used to flirt
with their pretty dancing skirts
flung to winds of straw or chance
within the barns abundant dance.

But now more mellow in our years,
full, life’s sorrows and her fears;
we live complete in joyous past,
hold delight in memory’s grasp.

Then as the sky turns gently grey
so branches sigh and softly sway,
evening comes as end of day
keeping still some heat to stay.

© G. Burns 31-Dec-2012