Winter Ginko: City Botanic Gardens (part ii)

As we head into the weekend, it’s the perfect time to slip into that haiku headspace… here’s a few poems from John Wainwright, Tamara Fletcher and Jonathan Hadwen to help you on your way.

*****

44th k.
the iPod has no song
for this

*

suburb of sailboats
neighbours
compare masts

Jonathan Hadwen

[photograph by Andrew Phillips]

length of her pink tongue
a standard measure of happiness

*

magenta t-shirt
a Sunday caricature
of himself

Tamara Fletcher

[photograph by John Wainwright]

one curlew
alone
the widow learns to walk again

*

bird of paradise bows to the noisy mynah

John Wainwright

Winter Ginko: City Botanic Gardens

The sun was blazingly beautiful again today, and my head was still swimming with haiku thanks to yesterday’s ginko. I am excited to post these poems from four of the poets who joined me on the day, and later in the week, I will post poems from the three remaining poets. It’s always a thrill to see so many fine poems written into being…

*****

masts swing –
hundreds of joggers
up the tempo

*

muddy hull takes the river to the sea

mr oCean

[photograph by Andy Smerdon]

sunday shadows
a soldier bird
breaks bread

*

through the fence
a chinese boy tries speaking duck

Andrew Phillips

 

[photograph by Andy Smerdon]

august wind
tight strings resonate
a winter song

*

blue feathers and orange beak
a subtle enquiry

Andy Smerdon

[photograph by Andy Smerdon]

light and shade on the duck pond       passing

*

partitioned park seats
for the homeless
no sleep

Trish Reid

ghost train
seeing the boy
the scream belongs to

early sun
above the hoop pine
cockatoos lift their crests

huddled close
late winter
firewood

dawn sky
in the reading lamp
summer’s moths

*****

Note: The picture above links to an article about carnivorous furniture… and yes, before you ask yourself, did you read that right, you did! It’s art meets design, meets the dark side of humanity…

in the chill of morning
a magpie
closer to the truth

winter sky
the first blazing
mouthful of tea

dead of winter
squeezing the sky
from my socks