MONTVILLE POETRY PATHWAY POEMS
Time Warp II
Green groves blanketed these hills,
splashed them orange, amber, gold.
The citrus has gone
but the zest remains.
Peel it, bite into it,
capture the sunshine.
The longer it stayed on the tree
the sweeter it became.
Long since the fruit ripened,
still a place for gathering,
exchanging stories,
setting differences aside,
still feasting up here on the Range.
© 2016 Lyn Browne
Zephyr
The breeze arrives unannounced,
wraps us in finest vicuna.
We move loose-limbed,
feeling its lightness,
how it seems to take the edges away.
It doesn’t linger.
and when it moves on
we think of calmer colours.
When we begin to speak
we seek out richer words.
© 2016 Lyn Browne
Here
Here, the bustle stops.
Here, the rush of ocean is a whisper
on the distant wind, far, far below.
I am alone.
Here beauty calls in towering bunya trees,
ripe kernels fallen for the ancient ones
who haunt this place.
The sun, reflecting in still waters
soothes the soul
peaceful in its silent absolution.
Step lightly on those stairs,
they lead to heaven’s gate
for Life lives here.
Here, rush of life of busyness and care
retreats behind the cooling mountain air;
here, where the ocean is a distant glow
and whispers in the wind far, far below
I am alone, content.
© 2016 Deanne Lister
Immortality
Centaur of the woods,
you ride the mystic haunts of underworld,
defying the fervent flames
of Hades in your path.
Ignite this sterile mind
with your indomitable spirit
and let the sparks of poetry
fly free.
© 2016 Deanne Lister
The Timber Jinkers
The timber-jinkers trundled over rough and stony ground
and the bullocks strained together on the steep.
The huge red-cedar load was drawn on steadily and slow
to be delivered to the sawmill by the creek.
The Blackall Range was well known to the people of the land
who would gather when the Bunya nuts were ripe,
and they told the timber-getters of the great majestic trees,
the cedar, beech and pine of varying type.
So many came and saw the trees as answer to their plans,
and they felled the sweet grained timber for their gain.
So the timber-jinkers trundled over rough and stony land
with the bullocks bravely shouldering the strain.
© 2016 Deanne Lister
Bunya Tree
O great provider of life force
your people called you bonyi
in the time of the tribal feasts
stories were woven around you
standing proud and tall
at the gathering place
you were part of tradition
watched over ceremony
standing today before you
sensing a majestic presence
we see more ... much more
than just a tree
timeless stories
still being told
around you
© 2016 Judith Bandidt
Reflection
There's a quiet place beneath a hill,
a winding path by waters still;
sunlight and shadow on either side,
nature's sounds keep the world outside.
A warm gentle breeze
filters down through the trees
and the windmill in the water
goes round and round,
the windmill in the water goes round.
© 2016 Judith Bandidt
Range Haiku
fallen leaves drift
stippled shadows shake pathways
random patterns form
steps skitter sideways
layering the landscape
in munchable chunks
waterbirds calling
on a lake of reflections
reeds hide their young
a dart—a dive—splash!
flash of iridescent blue
kingfisher hunting
twilight cloaked distance
gently dresses the ranges
in indigo haze
misty mountain village
warps between time frames
in diverting ways
faint blue plume rising
hint of wood smoke in the air
winter is coming
© 2016 Judith Bandidt
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Time Warp II
Green groves blanketed these hills,
splashed them orange, amber, gold.
The citrus has gone
but the zest remains.
Peel it, bite into it,
capture the sunshine.
The longer it stayed on the tree
the sweeter it became.
Long since the fruit ripened,
still a place for gathering,
exchanging stories,
setting differences aside,
still feasting up here on the Range.
© 2016 Lyn Browne
Zephyr
The breeze arrives unannounced,
wraps us in finest vicuna.
We move loose-limbed,
feeling its lightness,
how it seems to take the edges away.
It doesn’t linger.
and when it moves on
we think of calmer colours.
When we begin to speak
we seek out richer words.
© 2016 Lyn Browne
Here
Here, the bustle stops.
Here, the rush of ocean is a whisper
on the distant wind, far, far below.
I am alone.
Here beauty calls in towering bunya trees,
ripe kernels fallen for the ancient ones
who haunt this place.
The sun, reflecting in still waters
soothes the soul
peaceful in its silent absolution.
Step lightly on those stairs,
they lead to heaven’s gate
for Life lives here.
Here, rush of life of busyness and care
retreats behind the cooling mountain air;
here, where the ocean is a distant glow
and whispers in the wind far, far below
I am alone, content.
© 2016 Deanne Lister
Immortality
Centaur of the woods,
you ride the mystic haunts of underworld,
defying the fervent flames
of Hades in your path.
Ignite this sterile mind
with your indomitable spirit
and let the sparks of poetry
fly free.
© 2016 Deanne Lister
The Timber Jinkers
The timber-jinkers trundled over rough and stony ground
and the bullocks strained together on the steep.
The huge red-cedar load was drawn on steadily and slow
to be delivered to the sawmill by the creek.
The Blackall Range was well known to the people of the land
who would gather when the Bunya nuts were ripe,
and they told the timber-getters of the great majestic trees,
the cedar, beech and pine of varying type.
So many came and saw the trees as answer to their plans,
and they felled the sweet grained timber for their gain.
So the timber-jinkers trundled over rough and stony land
with the bullocks bravely shouldering the strain.
© 2016 Deanne Lister
Bunya Tree
O great provider of life force
your people called you bonyi
in the time of the tribal feasts
stories were woven around you
standing proud and tall
at the gathering place
you were part of tradition
watched over ceremony
standing today before you
sensing a majestic presence
we see more ... much more
than just a tree
timeless stories
still being told
around you
© 2016 Judith Bandidt
Reflection
There's a quiet place beneath a hill,
a winding path by waters still;
sunlight and shadow on either side,
nature's sounds keep the world outside.
A warm gentle breeze
filters down through the trees
and the windmill in the water
goes round and round,
the windmill in the water goes round.
© 2016 Judith Bandidt
Range Haiku
fallen leaves drift
stippled shadows shake pathways
random patterns form
steps skitter sideways
layering the landscape
in munchable chunks
waterbirds calling
on a lake of reflections
reeds hide their young
a dart—a dive—splash!
flash of iridescent blue
kingfisher hunting
twilight cloaked distance
gently dresses the ranges
in indigo haze
misty mountain village
warps between time frames
in diverting ways
faint blue plume rising
hint of wood smoke in the air
winter is coming
© 2016 Judith Bandidt
BACK TO Poetry Trail Page