Waiting for the Wood to Catch

The sun levers me from bed .

Slides over the smooth rump

of hills .

Steams away the frost .

The cats desert the hearth .

There are a few embers left ,

chunks of ash

warm and marshmellow fluffy .

Not a ripple of sound .

Everyone’s asleep .

I put two logs on the ash ,

a tangle of twigs

and settle back on the cane lounge

waiting for the wood to catch .

Two dragonflies clamber over

the green scrim of curtain ;

a young magpie rests high up

in the fork of a scrawly gum ;

from the next farm the caw

of a crow ,

the baaa of distant lambs ,

overhead the sudden scraaak

of galahs ;

my stomach rumbles —

breakfast !

the grey slumbering Sloth

and Mao , the red burmese cross ,

in expectation of warmth

slink around the hearth ;

a flame stirs the stubborn fuel


sets this poem ablaze

24 thoughts on “Waiting for the Wood to Catch

  1. Those galahs…then the kookaburras ah the magic of the early morning.
    Love this piece. You have really captured the morning. Makes me want to leave the city and go back to the farm.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. πŸ™‚ the last line is perhaps the trickiest of all; there is so much written on this topic and , of course, in light verse in which you and Hobbo excel, it’s like the punch line of a joke. In more serious poems,perhaps, it should leave the reader with the feeling of wow! what a killer line! whether it ties the poem up neatly or not —


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s