Rails to the moon and back

© Michael Leunig

The universe and her, and I

Love is the moon and the sun

the stars and 

the sea

the elder couple in 

the coffee shop smiling after

all these broken

wonderful years

Love is not our romance

with technology

as if we were made 

from wires and screens

by Christopher Poindexter

Sun merging with the moon by my 9 yo son © Jennifer Phillips

The man with the blue guitar

Excerpt:

The man bent over his guitar,

A shearsman of sorts. The day was green.

They said, "You have a blue guitar,

You do not play things as they are."

The man replied, "Things as they are 

Are changed upon the blue guitar."

And they said then, "But play, you must,

A tune beyond us, yet ourselves,

A tune upon the blue guitar

Of things exactly as they are."

by Wallace Stevens

‘The Blue Guitar’ by David Hockney

The blooming of madness

I remain awake in he

quiet hours of the night

when the moon is bold and

beautiful, for one reason,

one reason only; this life is

hiding something from me.

Dammit, I know it is.

And the beautiful thing is I know

it wants me to find it.

All the things I do are an attempt 

to discover it.

The whiskey. The literature. Stargazing.

Romance. Music.

It drives me mad but it flames 

my passion just as well.

So here I am, universe,

plush with desire.

Reveal yourself you beautiful

mother fucker

by Christopher Poindexter

Bold moon © Jennifer Phillips

Concerning timing

It was a cool summer afternoon.

White-plumed honeyeaters worked quickly

gathering insects from the leaves of a gum.

A plane swept low in laps for a nearby parade.

I noticed how the fences of my garden stood by idly.

I thought, someday if I could watch this scene afresh

captured as film - a given light, the given world,

and me, here, but held by time at one remove - then all reserve would vanish.

Like a homecoming - I would grasp each detail keenly.

Alas my thoughts turned to a nerve in my back,

to the undue fame of my enemies

and to my awaiting glory, as majestic as the ocean meeting the shore.

I have recorded nothing.

by Simon West

White eucalyptus © Jennifer Phillips

I look at my hands

i look at my hands and

remember all the beautiful things 

i have touched.

i remember lilacs and spider lilies

and seas and my favorite buildings

in New York City.

i mostly remember you.

how to you your body

was a night without stars,

a day without the sun.

how it was such a dark place

in the world you crafted in

your head.

i remember showing you 

with my hands and soft whispers

how moonly your flesh

can be.

how perfectly imperfect

women like you are and how flaws

are meant to be adored

and never scorned.

i look at my hands

and remember you like any man

remembers the woman he

truly loves; your soul first,

then your body follows.

by Christopher Poindexter

My hand © Jennifer Phillips

Get a life

© Michael Leunig - Saturday "Age" 30 January 2016

Chinese whispers

I sit at my table and I count my chips

I think of trains and aeroplanes and sailing ships

and I know that I could go 

to Paris, Spain, San Franciso

(Chorus)

Chinese whispers told me to try

when you play snakes and ladders you cannot cry

when you slide

when you slide you'll be alright.

Sometimes I think that I'll say 'so long'

go away to a place where everyone does everything wrong

and I'd see they're just like me

yeah, I'd see they're all just like me

But I'll stay anyway and watch it like a movie

and if my chips are down I'll keep humming like Louis

if I stand by I know I will

watch it pass from my windowsill.

(Chorus)

Chinese whispers told me to try

when you play snakes and ladders you cannot cry

when you slide

when you slide you'll be alright.

Sometimes I think that I'll say 'so long'

go away to a place where everyone does everything wrong

and I'd see they're just like me

yeah, I'd see they're all just like me

by Emily Lubitz (Lyrics to "Chinese Whispers") Tinpan Orange.

Time to us

We lay in bed

and watched the clocks

around us dance

until time to us,

was only the rise 

and fall of our

ruptured heartbeats.

We kissed and we kissed

until we knew no other taste

and we no longer understood

the pattern of a day as

we fell in love with the 

colors and the world

between each other's

eyelids.

by Christopher Poindexter

The road

The road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet,

And whither then? I cannot say.

by J.R.R.Tolkien

Image from http://www.copyright-free-images.com/

Christmas poem

© Michael Leunig - "The Age" Saturday, December 19, 2015

A Christmas Miracle

© Michael Leunig - "The Age" Saturday 12th December, 2015

Requiem

© Michael Leunig - "The Age" Saturday November 21, 2015

If only

If only we had met,

When we were children.

We would have tossed a ball,

Sung nursery rhymes,

Played games of hide and seek.

We would have skipped along the waves,

And built castles in the sand.

If only we had met,

When we were teenagers.

We would have shared an ice cream after school,

Listened to music and danced the night away.

Talked of our goals for years to come,

Walked hand in hand along the beach,

Experienced the innocence of our first kiss.

If only we had met,

When we were adults, all grown up.

Before the dreams of youth were spent,

The disappointments and the heartache.

We would have shared a sunset,

And watched the stars fill up the sky.

Our lips would have been joined in tender kiss,

Arms held tight in passionate embrace.

If only we had met,

In another time and place.

We would have shared a love so deep,

All other loves would pale in their significance.

Our hearts would share one beat,

Two bodies would blend into one,

The spirit and the soul would be united.

If only ....

By Yolanda Isabel Regueira Marin

Seascape

Both are one, god knows -

the flower's secret heart

and heart's secret flower.

your forget me not eyes turn

a world - as moontides

our days along windswept shores

and dark places

to the quiet bay, and love

seagrass, seaflower, sand dune

whispering your eye to me

every now and again

moonwashed liquid your voice

the whole of your eye is my heart

in your hand, on distant shore.

by Joy Hester

Seashore at Flinders, VIC © Jennifer Phillips

Love

And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. 

Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and to give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ectasy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips. 

by Kahil Gibran

Beneath the apple tree

there is a little place I know

big enough for a mouse to hide

beneath the apple tree - one day

when I am young again

there'll just be room for me.

by Joy Hester

Source: Wikimedia Commons

This day

This day before you now

Greet her with love and joy.

She is a fine strong person:

This precious living day

she is young and old

She is warm and cold

She is here for you

She will hold you well.

Make love with her

You'd be a fool to turn away

She is here. She is yours.

She is wise, she is hers.

She has dawned on you; this epic day.

Do not underestimate what she can do

Give thanks for her as you make your way.

Give thanks for the power and the kindness

Of this precious living day

By Michael Leunig

© Michael Leunig - Saturday "Age" June 20, 2015

Winter

Winter's cold but it's not spiteful

It's old and wise and beautifully insightful

It understands what's in the heart

It knows its way around the earth

It knows every death and every birth.

So off you go into the winter clouds old friend

There to weep and there to smile and mend

To meet the sun and feel delightful.

Winter's cold but it's not spiteful.

by Michael Leunig

© Michael Leunig, Saturday "Age" June 6th 2015

Mystical force

© Michael Leunig - Saturday Age 4 April 2015

Mr. Curly's Easter wagon being drawn through

the light of the full moon by a mystical force

created by two imaginary creatures. Please 

take note of the wagon wheels which 

in fact are hot cross buns.

by Michael Leunig