I'm happy when the sunset
stains the evening sky,
when on a windswept shoreline
hearing seabirds cry,
When family are gathered,
when friends enjoy a meal,
enjoying loving company
I have that happy feel.

I'm happy in a forest
with trees that tower above,
especially when I share it
with someone whom I love.
Resting in a garden
in dappled, leafy shade
listening to the songs of birds
nesting in the glade.

Things that make me happy
are life's most simple pleasures.
Lilies growing in green grass
to me are worthy treasures.
I am a happy person
as all around me shown
are beauties of creation,
gifts from a heavenly throne.



Have you seen my muse?

I think it's gone to China

or maybe it's in England

or even in the States.

Have you seen my muse?

I hate to be a whiner

but maybe it is visiting with

my poetic mates.

If you find my muse

please tell it that I'll feed it.

Send it back down under

here where it belongs.

If you find my muse

please tell it that I need it.

Without it I can't write any

more poetic songs.

I don't know why it left me;

I treated it quite nicely.

I kept it here beside me,

never left it in the cold.

I don't know why it left me

but I'd like to know precisely

just where my muse has gone to

and return it to my hold.



where the Alps,

their snowy heads

arrogant against the skyline,

look down on the plains

of wheat, grass, clove,

each square laid out

like a checkered cloth

upon the fertile soil.


where the nor'west wind

sighs with heated breath,

rattling the ears of wheat

standing proudly,

heads full and golden

awaiting the harvester.


where the Rangitata

slides over its stony bed

and the Opihi carries

its treasure of trout

to the baited hook

of the fisherman.

Where a bay named Caroline

invites me to bathe

in its gentle waters

with the grandeur of Cook

floating on the horizon

beyond the plains.

South to my home.

      HER MAN

As the music plays

she closes her eyes

and gently sways.

Memories come flooding,

days of youth with

romance budding.

His brown eyes smiling,

love unspoken,

soft beguiling.

Courtship with its joys,

newly married,

two growing boys.

His arms always round her,

trials and laughter,

glad he found her.

Children reared and gone,

just him and her,

sweet times alone.

Grandchildren fill their days,

watch them growing,

learning life's ways.

Now her love is gone,

only memories

to lean upon.

As the music dies

reality returns,

light leaves her eyes.

Empty house without her mate,

Alone, lonely,

this now her fate.



Feathered singer on the railing

with perfect pitch that's never failing

sweet notes to the ear impart

sharing your unstudied art.

Soloist or chorister,

city bred or forrester,

with golden notes and lilting strains

warbling musical refrains.

Though in green canopy concealed

your elusive presence is revealed

by fluid melodies and bars

composed in ageless repertoires.

At sundown your instinctive chorus

provides an evening concert for us.

Poor and dull the man unwilling

to appreciate your trilling.

Charming bard with yodeling voice

perform your tuneful song of choice.

Long may you whistle, feathered singer,

sing on, sing on,  joyful winger.



Little one, your innocent face

               in repose

would fool the most discerning.

           He who knows

      your wild, waking ways

        would then suppose

             them but illusion

watching your sweet, young face

           in dream's seclusion.

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