Here the powerlines follow the hill lines
blue distances are currawong clear
and wattles butter the bushland
once the snow is finished
with whiteout for high blemishes.
Red green parrots nip off blossom,
sing soft love songs to the sunshine
and all the old gardens show off their colour.
The rain falls cross-hatched and snuggles into creek beds
lies about in the sun reflecting on the sky
bringing frogs from the lakeshores
to sing songs about swan law
and kookaburras feast
acting ventriloquist to daylight knowing
hours and hours of summer ahead
sun so hot it blisters the water
mirage rises as fat as the moon
and wrinkled as lightning.
So rich, Lucy, and summer approaches, it does.Love this Canberra poem.
ReplyDeleteSo do I, but where is Canberra?
ReplyDeleteGreat to read a poem about the beauty of Canberra, Lucy, without the near-compulsory snideness. (Not to be confused with political criticism, which is a different parrot all together.)
ReplyDelete