Light (23.v.1974, Townsville)

There is but one of me,

shine, light so I may see,

I know the mystery

of life will come to me.

I will understand

man’s hidden hand.

I don’t have to try

to reach mind to the sky,

for there soul is free,

free for reality to be.

Growing Up … (3.iii.1974, Townsville)

I leave children’s voices far behind,

empty shadows in my mind.

Gone is the time when I was one,

now my thoughts reach to the sun.

The mystery of life unwinds,

veiled by intricacies of time.

I see clearly far behind

trials and torments of the mind;

there is now identity,

and now I am most truly free.

Moonrise … Moonshine (3.viii.1973, Townsville)

Your colour is your magnificence,

your beauty is your unerring light

which shows a path to we who love you

in a world with too few paths to happiness.

For this, we thank you.

A hope that you will shine upon us time immemorial

to light the way and serve us

even when we need you not,

for your beams in a starry blackness

are the essence of life filled with beauty

all around us if we will only look.

To feel the peace of mind and harmony

which emanates from you.

Fragile moonlight, light on light,

clothed in gold or shining white.

Sunrise, Sunset (1973, Townsville)

The sun rises on a cold and mystical world,

not yet formed into crystalline reality;

still smudged and blurred with pale dripping colours.

Fogged by a shadowy half-light

an arc of colour lifts itself over the horizon

and in its majestic throes, the sun emerges.

Day becomes clear.

As day passes through its never-ending cycle

the shadows grow longer and the landscape

takes on a hue of dying yellow.

The clouds turn magnificent shades of indigo,

yellow, pink, orange and purple

as dusk rears his sleepy head.

The sun sinks lower into its blanket of night.

Its last golden rays give a luminous glow to the sky.

The half-light returns,

giving the same definition of infinity to all around.

Silently, the world melts into darkness;

the starry blackness created by sunset,

which by magic becomes sunrise.

A Walk in the Summer Rain (1973)

On your own,

misty blues on misty miles,

silent shadowy curtain of soft velvet rain

evokes thoughts of near and dear,

happy or sad;

a walk in the summer rain

profound, refreshing, wonderful.

With another, joyous rush and tumble through falling torrents,

laugh away the grey

soaked to the skin is fun

why do without it;

relax in the sheer ecstacy

a walk in the rain is summer.

On its own,

falling softly

maybe silently

trickling down windows and valleys alike

refreshing the parched land;

the land offers its thanks by singing

the song of the summer rain;

every blade of grass and leaf of tree

can never be still while it is free.

Summer, Sun and Sand (1972, Townsville)

It’s impossible to tell

what wild overwhelming urge

drives daring, debonair, dashing youngsters

to summer, sun, sand and water.

Rollicking, rushing, rumbling waves,

crashing, curling, crumbling to the sand;

kings of kinky coloured surfboards ride the crests,

laughing, lolling, fooling around.

All shades of summer sunny hair,

blonde, brown, brunette and black,

waving in the wild whipping whistling wind

colouring the candy collection of the bikini-clad.

Our Sunburnt Country (1972, Townsville)

The sun shines down hard and blistering hot on a young country,

a country ever old-young.

An ochre land, quiet, inscrutable, filled with reluctant secrets.

The inhabitants of this dry, parched land stand burnt

brown as the drifting desert sands.

They have lived in this no-man’s land as long as the

oldest man can remember

persevering through steadfast indifference.

Only as the shadows grow long

does the land soften and mellow.

Trees grow stunted by wind and dryness;

they offer but the meanest cover to the meanest man.

Desert sands sprawl in the searing sun,

pitted with the windswept prints of animals;

here the land yields but rare, stark, solemn pools of water

for all the creatures who live in bitter extremity.

Leached by the sun,

changeless is this pitiless country.

Midnattssol (1972)

The sun sets high in the western sky

but never dips below the horizon aglow;

The golden body circles around

the softly coloured landscape,

its hue lighting the sand to a full ripe

orange of pomegranate;

A wind rises, a wave ripples,

and falls upon the shore,

softly, softly brings its treasure

to rest upon the golden shore,

emerging within the softly muted

purple forest’s reach.

Dipping low at Midnight’s height,

the light dies slowly in a reddish glow,

but the smooth calm sea

knows that the sun will rise

from its midnight low, and once again

set the shores alight

with a fiery glow.