frombikephotographyaustralia
Images From Australia
Australian bush and cities provide great inspiraton for imagery and writing.
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Predator
This was my cat “Panther”. I had her from when I was 12 years old until she was 21 years old (and I 33). She used to walk down to the shops with me. She was a delightful domestic cat. However, after working in the bush I now see the terrible toll cats take on our native species. Domestic cats should never be allowed to leave a controlled and enclosed space to roam free.
Stealthy predator of…
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#cats#decimatinon#defenceless#devestation#domestic cats#environment#feral cats#native species#plague#Poem#Poetry#predator#strathbogie#Strathbogie Tableland#writing
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Kiss
A poem for my daughter. I wish her love to last a lifetime.
That fist kissI dallied on your lipsI felt my head spina light and dreamystate i was inyour breath was sweetyour tongue sweet tooyour lips smooth and softlike the rest of youyour hair on my cheeksthe sensation tantalisingyour hands in my hair encouraging and invitingthat first kiss told me everythinghearts really can sing
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chemo
In my hands the grip on life is weakening incessant tremor shakes my tenuous holdin my voice the words are thickeningno longer resilient assertive or bold in my falling hair no flowers will bloomthere is no lustre richness or growthin my head there is no roomfor pleasant thoughts or more to knowin my eyes the irises are blackdarkened by illness, depletion and painthey can’t look forward only…
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mud
I walked the roads on my feet of clay clods of mud trailing in my wakethick and sticky gluey and grippywet and heavy from the rainI thought to put down roots againI sought out my home lost long agobut when I found it and I stood stillI discovered my roots would no longer grow
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Alter
Does it alter every morning when the light strikes the landwhen sunlight ever bright or through grey skies hits the stranddo the shapes and forms moveunder photon pressure waveronly photographer or artist heeds every little quaverwhen dark crevices are lit by yellow shimmer or dull purple patcheswhen mountains high or plains below are patched with coloured swatcheswhen treed slopes or waving…
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#art#artist#environment#light#photographer#Photography#Poem#Poetry#seanatbogie#strathbogie#Strathbogie Tableland#sunlight#walking#writing
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Locket
I live in that locketwith you I’ll always bea flower in that metal pocketso you can always seeyour lover at your breastthat lover always meyou wear upon your chestyour flower my honey beemy image and lock of hairto be there for evermoreso you my love take careto continue to adore
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Box
Behind the jackets amongst the socksbetween the T shirtsthere sits a boxbagged in plasticin cardboard boundsecured by elastic without soundthe box of letters still unopened by meemotional fettersto strong you seeThis week’s prompt for we poets comes from Kim. We have been asked to write an autobiographical poem of three stanzas about a box. I have written on this before - my mother’s letters…
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Waste
Whither the waste on every streetcivil detritus at my feetyet I walk on ignoring implicationsof daily deposits and ruinationthe industry iceberg from households deflects convenience trumps, responsibility defectsas blithely we step our way into historydumping waste our greatest legacyand each new generation cries why me?as they fill the land with more misery
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Susurration
As we walk darkening late afternoon brown and empty park laneways before the real cold of winter sets inI hear the quiet susurration of fallen autumn leaves as they are gently brushed by a murmuring breeze the soft attentive voices of an anticipatory audience lining our path sharing the intimate whisperings of love between you and me
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Announcement
The next train will be the wrong oneit won’t take you where you want to gono matter where you think you are goingthis train will not take you therethe following train is sure to take you somewhere elseif you want to go somewhere else please consider the following trainhowever, also consider that somewhere else is always somewhere elseit is never where you think it isplease only board this train…
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River
I’ll ride the river to your door strong and silent I will come to youI’ll wind my way from where I was lostthe river will deliver and save me tooand when becalmed by your charmsonce again after all this timeI’ll float leisurely then outstrectch my armsto again touch the flows that sooth meI’ll let the gentle eddies turn me aroundmy turbulence washed awayI’ll settle on the sandy riverbankwith you…
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Tableland Talk April 2024
The local community newsletter I publish each month is back once again.
202404_nws_TTDownload
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#community#community news#Newsletter#seanatbogie#strathbogie#strathbogie ranges#Strathbogie Tableland#Tableland Talk#writing
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Window
No one looks out the window anymoreeveryone is always eyes downno one sees the natural light only the glow of the phoneand the things that pass them by the nature and designthere’s so much to see away from the phone interesting and refined
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Slaughterhouse
Every building a caveEvery room a naveEvery threshold I crosscomes with a sense of lossthe entry here is a portalto everything that is mortala refuge and a threatmore of the latter I metevery uncertain floorstable footing unsurefirm or soft intentI proceed with discontentI engage with each roomamid the dust and gloomof this abandoned housewhere I had no choice this slaughterhouseto a mouseI…
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gully
The gully is the belly of the forestthe soft wet green placewhere digestive juices change things one form to anotherthe gully is the heart of the forestwhere nutrient rich fluid are pumpedvital organs synchronise their functionsto the vital goal of common survival the gully is the womb of the forestwhere meetings become intimate couplingsfertilisers are spread daily by fauna or flora…
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Hurts
God it hurts to see you like thisweak and in painin so much distressgod it hurtsto feel you so thinto feel your boneswhere there should be fat skingod it hurtsto wipe your pale faceto touch your cold handsto massage your achesgod it hurtsto feed you my loveto nurse and relieve youin plastic glovesgod it hurtsto bathe you each dayto wash your soiled bodyno, I won’t go awaygod it hurtsto roll you…
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Rain
Golconda by Rene Magritte
The people are raining in bits and blobsthe rain is red bled tears and sobsthe people are flying up through the skyarcing like rag dolls to heights very highthe thunder is frightening the lightning is deaththe people are dying taking last breathsfleshy lumps are dropping back to their berthwith fractured bones falling to rattle the earththe children are worst as their…
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#anger#death#devestation#dVerse#fear#grief#harm#hurt#loss#Poem#Poetry#rain#seanatbogie#verse#war#writing
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