Wandering in Woodacre – 19 November 2020

Contemporary American Art – Lola Mitchell

Below (photographs) – “Rose ocean”; “Breathless”; “Liquide”; “Ego with Gold Leaf”; “Bent”; “heavenly with gold leaf.”


A Poem for Today

“Great Blue Heron”
by T. Alan Broughton

I drive past him each day in the swamp where he stands
on one leg, hunched as if dreaming of his own form
the surface reflects. Often I nearly forget to turn left,
buy fish and wine, be home in time to cook and chill.
Today the bird stays with me, as if I am moving through
the heron’s dream to share his sky or water—places
he will rise into on slow flapping wings or where
his long bill darts to catch unwary frogs. I’ve seen
his slate blue feathers lift him as dangling legs
fold back, I’ve seen him fly through the dying sun
and out again, entering night, entering my own sleep.
I only know this bird by a name we’ve wrapped him in,
and when I stand on my porch, fish in the broiler,
wine glass sweating against my palm, glint of sailboats
tacking home on dusky water, I try to imagine him
slowly descending to his nest, wise as he was
or ever will be, filling each moment with that moment’s
act or silence, and the evening folds itself around me.

Below – Brooke Heindl Newman: “Heron”

Contemporary Australian Art – Anna-Carien Goosen: Part I of II.

Below – “Harmony in Gold”; “Dissonance”; “Chenee”; “Harmony in Electric Pink”; “What the Boy Saw”; “A Bush Walk Recorded (Banksia and Rock Orchids).”

A Poem for Today

“Hunter’s Moon”
by Molly Fisk

Early December, dusk, and the sky
slips down the rungs of its blue ladder
into indigo. A late-quarter moon hangs
in the air above the ridge like a broken plate
and shines on us all, on the new deputy
almost asleep in his four-by-four,
lulled by the crackling song of the dispatcher,
on the bartender, slowly wiping a glass
and racking it, one eye checking the game.
It shines down on the fox’s red and grey life,
as he stills, a shadow beside someone’s gate,
listening to winter. Its pale gaze caresses
the lovers, curled together under a quilt,
dreaming alone, and shines on the scattered
ashes of terrible fires, on the owl’s black flight,
on the whelks, on the murmuring kelp,
on the whale that washed up six weeks ago
at the base of the dunes, and it shines
on the backhoe that buried her.

Below – Carol Sabo: “Quarter Moon”

Contemporary Australian Art – Anna-Carien Goosen: Part II of II.

Below – “Inner Dialogue”; “Harmony in Mint”; “The Other Paradise”; “When We Come To It (Dudu with Turquoise)”; “Harmony in Green”; “A Bush Walk Recorded (Kangaroo Paws).”

A Poem for Today

“Eating Them As He Came”
by Christopher Todd Matthews

Dark by five, the day gives up and so do I,
stalled at the top of the stairs I forget what for,
adrift in a scrap of dream that’s not a dream
exactly but a stupor, unrefined. I go astray
in old routines, I dare myself to reconstruct
the rules of old invented games—that one
of throwing snowballs at the roof, to watch them
shrink as they rolled down, spinning to their pits,
to see the force that made them briefly a thing
so neatly undone. Today an old friend’s tiny boy
lobbied me to pitch some snowballs at him. I bowed
to his dense little will. But planned to miss.
As I packed and flung each one to its unpacking,
he hunted down the humble bits and crumbs
of every impact, as they ran from him along
the icy slope, and gathered and carried them
back to me at the top. Eating them as he came.
So that’s how you get to the marrow of breakdown.
I forgot. That you could put what’s left to your lips.

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