The storm

A narrow strip of pebbled beach.

Through the bush a house;

Timber-framed doors, glass panelled.

Now look back onto the river.

The angles of the shadows change.

Long at either end of the day

When the water glistens through the haze.

And storm clouds turn it to steel.

Storms that never come for weeks,

Till the day you can smell it.

The still river suddenly whipped up.

The bend of it obscured through the approaching rain.

One bank of clouds hovers in the east for hours.

Stagehands stand behind

Flashing torches quickly.

Flashing torches through giant card cut with a zig-zag.

Sometimes the card drops

And all of them shine a stark blue light onto the cloud.

And there for a moment

A strange, ghostly day.

An eerie quality of daylight

That paints the world in a strange black and white.

The decision to dream and live is made,

And not to just survive.

Copyright, Bryan R Ward 2006

Brick & tile

Sixteen perches, brick and tile, pebbled drive.

Plucking weeds out of the backyard.

Swinging on the hoist.

Leaping off the slide, with plastic bats for wings.

Hitting balls against the back wall.

‘Don’t play near the pampas grass!’

Sleeping on the veranda in summer.

Milky green walls and timber floors.

Laminate benchtops and an extendable dining table.

‘No talking at the table!’

‘No TV at dinner time!’

No carpet so the food doesn’t get ground in.

A gap in the stairs, peeking into the garage.

The downstairs finally built in.

More space upstairs.

‘Stop thumping around up there!’

An old door as a play table.

Rising damp on the brick walls.

Green carpet squares, mouldy and wet.

Laundry strung up from beam to beam.

Playing under the sprinkler.

Toy boats in the gutter.

Grey Besser block pavers and more weeds.

Three of us like cats & dogs!

‘Go to your room and don’t ask to come out!’

Bugs Bunny, Bewitched, Get Smart, Love Boat.

Copyright, Bryan R Ward 2010