Over the course of many years, I have been loving the art of poetry, both reading and simply writing it for my own pleasure.

We My poetry relates to life and nature, and therefore relevant to many of my blogs found here on Life and Nature.

I trust you enjoy my poetry as much as I have had writing it.

The art and photography that I have chosen to accompany my poetry will be either my own, or else that of my mother.

Dam Busters


Down the bush-track we adventure again,

Those familiar rocky outcrops of childhood.

Innocent faces, happy smiles going on and on for miles,

Winding babbling creeks, dam busters, water beetles and tadpoles.

Along craggy rock faces and under cliff boulders,

Clinging to the edge of reality.

Water beetles, shaggy crags, and huge water holes, 

Abandoned water vessels, another’s dream.

Pink Boronia and air-filled scents,

Bare feet, splashing in the water holes, and running home just on dark.

That’s freedom.

Wren, collage, Australian Paperbark


Always an adventure led by Jos.

His curiosity, his sense of awe, inspired us all.

Brother, sister, next door neighbour.

Down to Kangaroo Valley.

Adults rapt in conversation.

And we, marching on to the next discovery.

An old ramshackle barn.

Broken windows.

Walls of mystery, walls of charm.

Blue wrens nesting there.

Little sky-blue eggs, waiting to be hatched.

Fields of green, bales of hay.

I’ll never forget that country lane.

Clouded in the mist of youth.

Where adventure around every corner lay.

The old homestead – oil painting, L. Philipsen/Dekker/Vandepol

The Gramophone

In a forgotten field, under the gumtrees.

How much fun, in an abandoned and rusty old car?

I cannot count how many of us were crammed in there, like a swarm of bees.

But there you were, instigating the whole hurrah.

Your mum’s old gramophone, a pile of her country and western records.

And wearing her bikini too, and lipstick, so red.

Excitement of the passion, of your mums’ desires, she reckons.

Of slim dusty, and many American greats, you had said.

How funny looking back at the scene, with music playing, melodiously.

All excited, and you sitting down, on a pile of that treasured dream.

Cracking them all, in horror jumping up, and sitting right down unceremoniously.

Onto the only other pile, cracking those as well, how mean.

I never found out how much trouble you got into that day.

Kookaburra table setting

Mothers and Fathers

We came across the holiday cottage, abandoned.

Looking in the windows, very inviting.

Once inside, the fascination, looking in cupboards, an imagined life.

Dusty abandoned shell of time, adventure of another’s realm.

Little mother, little father, cubby house it seems.

Ironing board, table and chairs, all miniature dreams.

Squeal of brakes.

Thud of feet.

Feds of reality, taken home, deftly bad.

Heads downturned, innocent play.

Goodnight my friend, the end of the dream.

Aniseed Milk

Little drifts of powdery snow,

glittered lazily like a fairy-tale dream.

We raced from our beds, so early,

clamouring into our winter woollies.

Gloves, hats and rosy cheeks,

we ran out in anticipation of the excitement ahead.

Jos rolled the biggest amount of snow,

he helped his little sisters and brothers.

We created the most magical snowman I had ever seen,

it took hours for Jos to complete.

Yes We all had given up and watched from the safety of the window.

Our fingers tingled and numb from the cold.

We looked at the snowman with satisfaction,

such childhood innocence.

Large as life, awe inspiring

My big brother so marvellous, so clever.

Afterwards, looking out of the window, warm,

drinking hot aniseed milk.

And by the end of the day,

all that was left was a big icy blob.

So many memorable moments,

in our impoverished lives.

Wendy Whileley Secret Garden, Lavender Bay

Angel in Heaven (dedicated to Glen Bate)

It’s a long, long road that we travel.

You were left behind.

Perhaps I will see you again in heaven.

A little angel for ever more.

When we first met.

I captured your heart.

Caught me by surprise.

So long ago it seems.

Your boyish looks.

Oversized army coat.

Shaggy, ruffled, sandy hair

Eyes that smiled only for me.

Sexual discoveries, I am your “honey child”.

So delightful but short lived, why?

We were so very young.

I stopped loving you, that’s all.

And now you are no more.

Why couldn’t I protect you.

Now only a memory.

Yes, I will see you again in heaven.

A little angel forevermore.

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