magpie

magpie
head on side -
why
have I come
this way again?

(for my brother, the farmer)

Arrows of rain
Crater the red dust plain,
Splinter yellowed tussocks
Of sharp crackled grass,
Fizzle and soak long-silent soil,
Sing new life from waiting seed.

White shoots uncurl, tentative, uncertain
Then grow bold, spike the country green
And tangle with the stirring world
As the whole greened earth crescendos.

Hearts swollen with freshened purpose
Inhale the ozoned breeze,
And wonder, ever again,
At the life that waits
Under this sun-baked land.

Cockatoos

wind-tumbled
flounces of feathers:
cockatoos
whoop on
updraughts of joy

Yee Peng

lanterns rise
on inky sky:
the old year
let go,
a new beginning

The New Year Light show

Champagne and mobile phones in hand, we watched the fireworks burst over the heads of the thousands gathered around Sydney Harbour. Bigger and better and more surprising than ever, they claimed. From what we could see on the small screen in the corner of the party the explosions of light and kaleidoscopes of colour were certainly big, the imaginations of the pyrotechnic artists had overflowed onto the already luminous harbour canvas and exceeded all previous exhibitions.

But I thought of the light festival at Mae Joh.

In northern Thailand in November, we joined thousands upon thousands as they thronged onto temple grounds near Mae Joh to celebrate Yee Peng Sansai, a festival in Homage to the Lord Buddha. Floats of intricately folded leaves and flowers, brightly coloured rowers in wheeled dragon boats and festival queens preceded us. As we joined the crowd under the full moon we heard monks chanting over loudspeakers. They were schooling us in stillness from a brightly lit dais under a gold Buddha in the far distance. Some of the monks words and chants were translated into English for stray farangs but even without the translation we understood that this was a meditative and solemn occasion.

Leaning against unlit candles radiating from the dais in every direction were large paper lanterns. They were collapsed, except for a few which drifted up from impatient hands. The lanterns are like hot air balloons: paper cylinders above slow-burning coils which fill them with hot air. They billow and pull until restraining hands can no longer resist releasing them into the night sky.

After about an hour, more people crowding in at every moment, the monks told us to light the candles. Another few minutes and we were allowed to light the coils under lanterns but not to let them go yet. Then, at a single word, thousands of lanterns floated silently up into the inky sky. I was enchanted by the rising lights. Bright at first and then paler as they rose and floated away on the breeze. Some lanterns dragged fireworks which, after rising 30 metres or so burst into life. The sparkling tails wove gracefully behind the rising lantern light.

Surrounded by this luminous wonder we all held our breaths for a long moment then the silence was broken by the whir of digital cameras and the eruption of fireworks. Random rockets, flowerpot bursts and a thousand types of bungers filled the space left by the mild lanterns. The night had crescendoed from the singular glow of the silent moon to a flotilla of lanterns rising in a hum of wonder to the colour and crack of the fireworks.

Last year's start

mist pin-bursts
fresh on my cheeks
as I plan
a future without you
in this new city