Nostalgia
About the billy rim
swirls beechwood smoke,
the surface rolls, receives
some bark and ash,
fist of tea
and time to brew
the handle-angled rim
spills steaming amber
into hungry mugs
all this and more
recalled today
in the aroma of clothes.
Canterbury Brew |
Canterbury Brew
Once again
on riverstone hearth
flood whitened
finger bones of trees
feed hot flames
about my black-skinned billy
rolling to a boil
in the smoke-blue air
of an empty valley.
And finally a haibun, a Japanese form involving prose and, in this case, a haiku.
Alchemy
Alchemy
The time is
right after a morning of packing up-valley and now you’ve found the perfect
grassy flat between two tongues of bush – in sunlight. You allow the pack straps to slide from
your shoulders and feel the ease.
While she unpacks the billy and makes her way down to the water you
gather together the makings of a fire, dried fern and grass, snappy twigs of
beech with their brown leaves still attached and some larger water-worn dry
sticks. She returns with the
water, pure as you expect it to be.
You arrange stones for the blackened billy. Soon the match flare
and wisp of smoke becomes a fire.
Later you admire the glow of red embers and the movement of water and
tea leaves within the billy. You shift the brew onto the edge of the ashes
where it slowly rolls.
Alchemy |
Across the stream
you observe trees
collecting sunlight
So much
alchemy, gold pouring from your billy.
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