Rescued from the Borg. And an excuse for beach photos and marsupials. I love a sunburnt country, A land of sweeping plains, Of ragged mountain ranges, and damn big snakes in drains. Julian O'Dea
Walk with St Francis along the strand and see the wavelets each with a hand white and frothy, clapping and waving as creation goes on, roaring with delight, making that joyful noise to the Lord of uninterrupted praise day and night. Julian O'Dea
I don't know it Julian was thinking of coldplay, but I did. Better poem, better actions than D. H. Lawerence yesterday. Driving past in the fog, they could still make out the car perched on the verge and the couple's heads together in the front seat, and, unwitting, think "young love", admiring only perfection in … Continue reading Poem (morbid) of the day. And song.
We found another creek, forgotten, hardly on the map, small and brown, almost too modest to flow, behind the poplars planted to hide the workers' houses. Julian O'Dea.
The death poem was part of the ritual of honorable self destruction in Bushido. Akin to Bushido, a delusion. the laughing wave that washed away his death poem Julian O'Dea,
This is more real than Pig Island. I can barely see you in memory: that first kiss in the front seat: I am so blinded by the glare of passing time. Julian O'Dea.
Julian O'Dea put this on facebook. Holiday is over as of tomorrow. The poems of the day will not be dated: WordPress can keep them apart automatically. I know that my dog was naturally happy then, when she slipped away that time and became aquatic for an hour. I circled the large pond (or small … Continue reading Restart Poem of the day.
This is Julian O'Dea, who writes Haiku now he has left that living hell which is the Canberra Civil Service. the moorhen finds another blackberry ... summer rain Julian O'Dea. He put it on Facebook. I'm putting it here.