Untitled (1)

How, why, wherefore, what for, title
what’s starting here, now, & going
who knows where or when?
or maybe nowhere, nowhen,
& ending now, here
 
or maybe not.
 
Pause.
Pauses are good.
I can feel the sun rising
up the back of my neck,
hear the sometimes separate
& sometimes chorusing
chirpings & chirrupings
& repeated whistlings & cawings
of several birds, with soft sequences
of snores occasionally providing
both a slow beat & some bass
as the shadow of my head extends
further over the table edge,
until my neck feels too warm
& I turn & arise & draw the curtain
behind me
 
Untitled
So many paintings by so many artists,
some so great, some not so great,
come to mind, & go again
to where all past things go
until they’re remembered again
& anew, always anew, never only
as seen or remembered before
 
Untitled
because any title could only limit,
diminish, detract, confine,
all that is & that isn’t there in the painting,
or because the artist wasn’t very verbal,
or was lazy, or was merely following
a fashionable mannerism. Who cares?
 
Pause again. Or end here. Or not.
We’ll see. Let’s get up, walk about a bit,
step outside into the sunshine.
with the iPad.
 
& sitting outside
I take some pics, sunbeams streaming
onto lilac jacaranda leaves strewn
on the drying mown grass that remains
on the stone-packed earth still awaiting
some good rain, then rise, take a pic
with the tips of my slippers showing,
look at them, take a selfie, then walk around a bit
& take some more, with the sun behind me,
the still-young poinciana that we planted starting to leaf,
the older jacarandas in their still-early blossoming,
a part-shadow of the photographer-me
beside one of the many dandelions rising & flowering
throughout the paddock, or amidst a shadow arch
of poinciana branches & views towards & above & around
our little house that was once a “bales” on this property
once known as “The Old Dairy”, where they used to milk
the cows they grazed on totally cleared rainforest land
in what was once Bundjalung country.
 
I’m here now, I think, walking back inside.
I’m here now, & glad to be here, now, still breathing,
if not always easily, at least not yet with a need
for bought oxygen, glad no longer to be there
where the terrible things are still happening
& getting more terrible from day to day,
glad too that I’ve written & published
all I feel I needed to say on the subject,
& even if only a few people have seen &/or read any
or all of it, I needn’t keep coming back to all that again.
 
I’ll publish this later, with some of the pics,
then breakfast, while viewing today’s online newspapers,
& maybe some Facebook, where I might
like or share or comment or ignore,
whatever I feel then, then take morning meds & then
do whatever else needs doing, none of that matters now,
in this good space & time I’ve titled
Untitled (1).
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