tumble dry

Diamond drops
Like falling sand
On a day
of iced demand.
Baking dust
and stir-less dirt,
Panting mice
and limp hung shirt.

Washing in the sun fast dry
Grass blades in the shade still fry.
Soaking things hung up high
Despite the clouds that draw nigh.

Wind picks up
Flings all things far
Pegs flicked off
Like so much blah.
Billowing sheets
'neath marching tap
and the sky
beats out a rap.

Run and gather
Under the weather
Undo all tether
Before the rather.

trickle by

When the sun shineth hot
And the concrete's a-baking,
If you stop and listen
You'll hear the pant of animals making.
From shade to shade you
Trickle by
Hoping for a breeze
Whilst down your face,
Your neck,
Your back,
Sweaty droplets race.

Oh, Melbourne summer,
How cool you are
When your temperature grabs the 40s.
It's the time all
Air cons fail
And the floor's
As warm as a shawl.

Oh, Melbourne summer,
Those restless nights
Of 30 and above
Where bed sheets crumpled
Soak on the floor
Amidst the dripping heights.

Then the sky it darkens,
Like night time in midday.
A thunderous boom,
A split-sec lit sky
And torrents flood house by.

Trickle by
The thunderstorms
That cool the hottest day.
'Til you shiver from the ice
The hail and its vice.
Gardens drenched in ankle deep
Storm drains overflow.

Why, oh why
Did I sigh
For the storms
To cool change bring?

Oh, Melbourne summer,
You can be a bummer,
When the meteorologists can't predict
Whether your day's weather will be mild
Or a day full of extremes.

today

Today the sky is grey, where the brilliant blue that glared until your eyes were sore has dissipated after a big dust storm. Any cars caught out in the subsequent rain have now been painted with the dust the clouds caught and threw back towards the earth through their egestion. As such the cars are well mottled, as if they're about to go bush and camouflage themselves. I pity those who washed their cars yestermorn.

Today is interesting. Mostly because it's no longer yesterday neither is it tomorrow yet. It's today. Present. A present. Not always a welcome present, but still today's present.

So... the earth has turned another round and measured up no single sound. Why I have to rhyme so much in my poems is beyond me. I used to be able to make them work via rhythm alone, but they disagree with me now. Only the remnants remain.

Raining! Raining! Quick take down the clothes, before the spit of the sky makes the drying garments dusty. Again.

Wither will the rains yet come,
wither will they go again,
When summer rages
and fires pages
Taking away many wages.
In the lightning of the storm
In the gale of the lorm,
Now the houses must well be kept
and all the yards well swept
Let not the hunger satiate
In radiating, whirling heat.