VIVID

Gymnasts crawl across the opera house ,

Sails billow in the seeming wind as

Pixilated patterns swirl.

Always iconic the harbor  even more alive

As rainbow colours and metropolis men

March across the face of the museum

And lights flash and dance across the Rocks.

Cars and planes navigate the sharp corners of

The Customs house as the facade rises and falls in ever changing hue

Dark ripples from the harbor, illuminated by the ubiquitous ferries,

the perfect backdrop framed, as always, by the bridge

And from the throng

Exudes a contented, exuberant joy.

It  is

Simply

Vivid.

The Gorge

The Katherine River pours through the gorge

Cliffs, trees and birds soar above

To remind us

We are but temporary visitors to this timeless place

Our puny paddles leaving but a momentary ripple

Tree roots, tiny and vast,

Cling improbably to imperceptible cracks,

And metres higher a tree stands  strong

Against all odds.

Along the bank,  gums lie at impossible angles

Eloquent testimony to the power of flood

Pandanus curve and swoop over the water

Air roots intertwined and inseparable.

Above, beautiful salmon guns

Add their own tint

Clawed foot marks crawl across sandy inlets

Crocodile Nesting Site  an

Unnecessary warning.

We are seen, but see not.

But it is the cliffs

Multifaceted, uplifted in aeons past

granite and earth fired clay

Water worn to mystical colours and shapes

Which provide the real  awe

That and the sense of peace

When

Leaving all other boats behind

We share the river with itself

And in its rippling silence

It whispers to us

Of ages past.

Thanks

46 Years

10 schools

5 countries

What have I learnt ?

Young people are wonderful.

Too many

Even some teachers

See it otherwise.

Get out of the kitchen !

It’s like the news

We like the bad

But we ignore, overlook, or simply don’t see

The energy, commitment, determination

Of so many.

And we should never overlook

The privilege, responsibility, sheer pleasure

Of working with them.

Last month I met a stranger.

Do I know you ? You look familiar ?

You taught me in Year 12.

I would never have succeeded without you !

THANKS

Rest Eternal

On million dollar land

overlooking Coogee Bay

lie hundreds of graves.

Memorials to cardinals, sailors, politicians

and tragically young children.

The monuments huge, minimalist,

gaudy and plain, all share  regret, love,  loss,

eulogise a life,

and  proclaim  safe eternal rest.

The graveyards tumble down the slope

once cherished stones  in arresting disorder,

weeds and thistles wind their slow decay

and proud statues lose fingers, hands, even heads.

Moss erodes the loving words composed

by those themselves long gone.

The only colour a pathetic bunch of wilted flowers.

Plastic.

Sitting atop the tallest statue

perched precariously on a tilted, broken arm

a Raven, cawing,

Nay laughing

At our arrogance.

Les Littleford. 2/05/2012

Ode to Golf

Dare  you  compare it to a country walk?

Dismissed by some a sadly  wasted day,

But this of course is ill informed, the talk

Of those ne’er to have shared the joy of play,

Or felt that surge of pleasure at the smack

Of club on ball as it soars through the sky,

A show of perfect symmetry in air,

To land with satisfying thump on track

And roll on line  to find the perfect lie.

And they have  never had to wonder why

Such planetary alignments are so rare.

We happily delude ourselves, we thought

Social participation was the key

when we forgot all that  we have been taught

and happy were just standing on the tee.

But then of course we hit that perfect shot

And strong competing  juices flow once more

A winning round  becomes a real chance

We tell ourselves our putter’s running hot

Try in vain   to not focus on the score

As in our private dreams we hear the roar

And  sense that magic zone : golf in a trance.

Dismissed by some as,  simply,  just a game

adherents know it carries greater weight;

life without golf would never be the same,

ones form is permanently mixed with fate.

We seek new tricks to fix that dreadful hook

One special club to cure that fatal slice

A better  standard ball to help us cope

With all the challenges we need to brook

And understand we have to pay the price

Implicit in the way the game entice

Us to that lush green course, eternal hope.

Views from a train

Natti River, Mittagong, Bund, Tallong, Towrang,

Unfamiliar echoes of our past

But today they fly past the carriage window

And inactive we observe a cinematic view

Forgotten  scenes

Of bypassed country towns.

The  stations wear a defiant gloss

And on platforms

The old family rituals prevail

Differing only in dress

Lovers still cling to every second

And wave until our screen has long refocussed

Parents stand proudly

As just post adolescent children move on

Uncertain whether to hug or shake hands

While others, returning, seem

Carefree to be home

And the now diesel iron horse

Still carries vital supplies

The hills of the sheep’s back roll past

Dotted like ancient landscapes

But now interspersed

With blue gum and vine

And labour free modernities

Rotting sleeper mounds

Replaced with functional

Green sensitive soulless concrete

Provide documentary comment

Decaying sheds with

Ragged stacks of rusting dreams

A sepia reminder

Of glories past

Sudden splashes of colour

Ochre, red and black

Redolent of the scope and age

Of this Australia

Its dotted treescapes

Vast horizons

Portentous clouds

The curtain of skyscrapers

And urban sprawl

Draws across our screen

We leave our seats

And return to the  world we know

Enriched by images

Of how we got here

And what we have lost.

[ Reflections on a train trip from Sydney to Melbourne]

Les Littleford     May 2009

The Gorge at Sunset

The call of the night owl echos through the gorge

as it has for countless generations.

The  sun pierces horizon clouds

and highlights  serrated ridges

carved from the canyon since time began.

As the sun fades

the massing cumulus to the east turn blue and grey .

The blue black  river glides  ever darker

and rocks, still hot to touch, lose their glow.

The inherent  romance of sunset

lacquered with history and time.

This is  sacred Jawoyn land ,

Resonant with mystery and beauty.

Individual trees acrest the ridges

stand  sentinel  to a bygone age.

The land of the rainbow serpent

laid out for miles before our eyes,

empty as far as the eye can see,

yet crammed with timeless memories

which here, in The Gorge , at sunset,

seem profoundly at peace.

She Ran Away !

The pain has gone

but the memory will never die.

We could not sleep,

sit still,

talking to friends brought tears ,

and every phone call raised hopes

only to end in despair.

After 48 long hours

we began to consider

the unthinkable:

then finally,

after 3 impossibly protracted days,

our daughter was found,

safe.

And after  the relief

came the anger .

How could she?

Why?

The reunion was the most bitter sweet of hugs,

elation, relief, fury, confused and blended

an emotional  cocktail

Which quenched the thirst but not the pain

Only time healed the pain,

but today, as I watch her mother with joy

our two cherished grandchildren,

even the memory is dimmed.

The gentle Bellarine curves framed the water

as my kayak and I slid into the rippling bay.

It was perfect, sunny, windless autumn.

On distant mud flats Black Swans ,

imperious,

strutted their stuff,

and took off in an overture of beating wings

when I dared to get close.

Pelicans sailed like ancient junks,

their prows staunchly curved into the wind,

those ancient eyes twinkling with joy,

confident in their splendour.

The only sounds were the rhythmic dipping of my paddle,

The water sluicing gently under my hull,

and the distant, background, all pervasive cacophony

of unnumbered birds.

Along the banks were opulent homes

with million dollar views

but out here,

lulled by the tide and awed by beauty

I was the millionaire.

A gorgeous black hound is our Ocky

Who loves Brecon and Mel and his rocky

But he swallowed that brick

And became very sick

So NO MORE ROCKY FOR  OCKY!