breakfast with lorikeets


In the half-lit dawn
a dozen lorikeets are busy breakfasting on spiky red bottlebrush blooms.

How they manage to swallow anything is a mystery
for they never cease chattering to each other.
An incredible tongue, keetish, full of subtle gurgles,
murmurs, squeaks, squawks, whistles, craws…

There is hearing happening here
but no listener can be found

Methinks the lorikeets are likewise
yet their conversations are clearly a dialogue
and often a duet.

I love the way they stop for a snog,
whispering their sweet-nothings awhile
then heading back to the tucker-task.


to live is to ‘-ing’


The svelte yogini who folded herself up lotus-like
is awol.
Here sits a woman with a knee the size of a football,
legs sticking straight out in unapologetic
senses checking in with the now-this-here:

listening is
– an upstairs neighbor snoring
– a gearing-up truck roaring
– feathered friends twittering
– body-beat pulsing

seeing is
– the golden sun rising
– the candle flame dancing
– tiny toads hopping
– palm fronds gently swaying

feeling is
– a mangled leg aching
– a left buttock numbing
– a concern for parents tightening
– then releasing

Life is ing-ing everywhere
and it seems to this ‘me’-ing be-ing
to live is to ‘-ing’!


suchness is my hermitage


milky morning sky breathes the promise of rain
but can’t be trusted

earth, trees, lizards, frogs, toads, billabongs and crusty creeks –
we all wait, thirsting

. . .


. . .

today, a broken tooth to take to the dentist

. . .

I’m in awe of the wild intelligence
of this beatland called body;
it’s always pointing the way, (yet
so often ignored and denied) 
always waiting in the same placeless place for
my scallywag mind to return

. . .

 this intimate suchness is my hermitage
my inescapable refuge
my hallowed wee hut 

. . .


Suchness:  a fundamental, intrinsic, or characteristic quality or condition  (
In my usage: the in-my-face as-it-is-ness of life.

Photograph by Tan Sim Louis Chong, incomparable photographer of skies.


‘I’ is the ing-ing of the world


morning report:

raining softly puddling
greenly guzzling growing
pattering roofmurmuring
peeing neighbor relieving
flushing toilet emptying
impatient  traffic up-gearing
fountain pen scribbling
flickering candlelighting
steaming tea sipping

‘I’ is the ing-ing of the world

just this, right now, right here
always at home
always fulfilled


what a way
to start a day!




anything to report?

only apparent things apparently reported
by an apparent reporter to an apparent reader

since one apparent thing
is as good as another:

pigeons coo and bob
shadows flicker and fade
sun burns into the dawn
hand writes unthought words
thoughts think it’s miraculous
bum numbs on scrawny zafu
chuckling chuckles…

and inseparable from the display of appearances
something unknowable yet known

the nameless name

is omnipresent