The dry earth coughs up dust storms

While cattle scratch at the brownness,

Their tongues having forgotten

The sweetness of green grass.


But the sky is closed up like

a heart that has borne much pain,

And the clouds hold back the rain

As though in just retribution.


Would it be that the mewling of

slaughtered beasts and the gasps

of dying fish rose up from the earth

in pangs of collective wailing?



It could be that the heavens have

a thousand ears and a million eyes?

Maybe Nature communes with itself

In a language we have stopped hearing.



Australia has been experiencing drought for 6 years in a row. Cattle are dying and farmers are committing suicide.


Poem of the day : Rain



With thick strokes of ink the sky fills with rain.
Pretending to run for cover but secretly praying for more rain.

Over the echo of the water, I hear a voice saying my name.
No one in the city moves under the quick sightless rain.

The pages of my notebook soak, then curl. I’ve written:
“Yogis opened their mouths for hours to drink the rain.”

The sky is a bowl of dark water, rinsing your face.
The window trembles; liquid glass could shatter into rain.

I am a dark bowl, waiting to be filled.
If I open my mouth now, I could drown in the rain.

I hurry home as though someone is there waiting for me.
The night collapses into your skin. I am the rain.



Creative February 8 – Rain-kissed dahlias

It rained last night, breaking the long spell the sun had cast over us. Dark clouds rolled in last evening and distant drumrolls thundered. I slept to the sound of rain and woke up to the sound of rain. By mid-morning it had stopped. The air smelt freshly laundered. And also of green foliage and wet, satisfied earth. As though the earth was holding its breath in thirst and was now in a deep exhalation of contentment and joy. Everything was rain speckled, as though laden with gems. Photography was a double delight. These dahlias looked especially queenly, fitted out with raindrops.