by admin | May 12, 2026 | Newsletter, Poetry
Photo by Peter Sands
Given that SE Australia has just been subjected to mid-April highland snow, followed by a record-breaking May heat-wave I revisited the following I first wrote in April over 20 years ago …
Autumn has been warm, a lingering of summer beyond the end of late evenings into the shortening days which herald the coming of winter. Calm sunny days have been interspersed with short periods of gales and frigid showers, the precursors of winter.
One morning, as I examined the weather map in the paper, I sensed a tension in the air, as if a great battle is being enacted out across the spaciousness of these Southern lands and oceans …
The Gods of Summer and Winter are battling
for a change of the seasons.
It’s Autumn!
A high-pressure ridge extends down the eastern seaboard.
At its centre there is calm, a balmy and benign peace.
Lows to the south-west thrust fronts northwards,
with jagged fangs threatening
the bitter bite of Winter’s cold.
For now, hot strong winds roar from the north,
the sun desiccates the land, fires burn.
The God of Summer exerts a last tenuous hold!
But inexorably, inevitably, change will come.
As the wind strengthens, clouds gather
around the mountain behind the city.
Suddenly, the wind ceases!
A warm, humid and clammy hand descends
on the landscape, adding to a deepening dusk.
With the fading of the light the wind shifts – to the south!
Icy squalls race up the river while
freezing showers dash down the mountain valleys
and across the city.
Diners and theatre goers exit their warm shelter,
collars turned up against Winter’s bite,
and hurry homewards as another cycle
begins in an interminable battle,
a see-sawing quest for balance between
irreconcilable and incompatible opposites.
Thoughts turn to the Winter months ahead,
with long nights, dull days, and bitter winds,
or to the times of four seasons in one day
when south-westerlies rule our lives,
cleansing the air we breath, and our hearts.
A time when Earth retreats into herself,
a time for reflection, renewal,
and the reconciliation of opposites.
Peter Sands
Late April 1994 and 2026.
Photo by Peter Sands
by admin | Oct 14, 2023 | Poetry
Poet Ian Mcfarlane’s latest book, Wintersong: New and selected verse, published by ginninderrapress.com.au is now available. It includes an introduction by award-winning poet, Dr Tim Metcalf, and explores cultural, political and environmental themes.
Ian McFarlane considers poetry to be a conversation with the imagination of anyone prepared to listen. His verse is both free and rhythmic, spanning its own inclusive path. Ian is an award-winning writer of fiction, essays and book reviews. Despite the crippling handicap of anxiety and depression, he has used words and ideas in defence of social justice, the environment and psychological well-being for many years. He now lives in a Canberra retirement village with his wife, Mary.
by admin | Jun 21, 2023 | Poetry
This poem was written in 1987 by Bruce Munro at Elm Grove Sanctuary, four years after it was founded by Edwin & Laurel Lloyd-Jones.
__________________________________________
…ahh…’twas like a dream shrouded in the mists of time
where earth mother smiles.
I remember … ah … yes, but that was yesterday …
and I saw them come with wondrous eyes they looked upon me,
this land, and loved it much.
Has such time passed by … can it be so?
When work is but a labour of love, time has no meaning.
The garden here now nurtures its people – even through the thorns!
It bears fruit to grow and give …Twilight deepens …
The bees have had their day …
and the quiet, sits comfortably in the valley
where the trees whisper to each other of the day,
being but a blink to them who have seen the Light,
the light … from the old homestead …
within those wondrous boughs … and in that lamp lit doorway
Our Lady of the Elms
in her long flowing gown of yesteryear
and spring flowers in her hair … still … she stands,
her gaze toward the light of that silver orb twinkling
in that rushing bubbling water near the meeting place with another …
Today a lady oft is seen amongst those sentinels – she,
who was born this day, when … ah,
but it seemed like yesterday … Yesterday when roamed
those four legged monsters (with itchy backsides),
I heard those trees call out! …
and yet how strangely forgiving they be …
Tales also tell of the man that won the heart of the lady –
a broad, strong man of ruddy complexion,
though seldom seen now is his old friend standing at twilight
with foot on knee his back to trunk same colour as he.
For today a young and melodious sapling stirs the old leaves
at the place of the moon
and is often seen shepherding a flock of the sometimes squabbling,
scurrying creatures that come and go to this place …
yet for each, in their own way a mark is left …
ahh … ’twas but yesterday … I was here …
in my dreams.
by admin | Jun 21, 2023 | Poetry
Ian McFarlane – winter, 2012
_____________________
(For the compassionate wisdom of Laurel Lloyd-Jones)
To beat back intolerance,
in a time and place
that is – and equally – is not
amenable, is to risk suspension
between what we know of form,
and what we believe of substance;
like a leaf caught on the cusp
of a dangerous definition.
Because hubris defines compassion
in a way that disenchants hope –
however, to understand the leaf
with what we know of love,
is to seek all we need to know
of wisdom.
by admin | Jun 21, 2023 | Poetry
(This poem was written in 1987 by a guest to Elm Grove by a man called Jim who came to camp beside the river. From memory he was Canadian and he loved jazz but sadly we don’t have his surname recorded.)
_________________________________________________
deep pool
filled with crystal Essence
with wisdom past
and ages yet to be
container
fashioned from the gold of unseen Realms
drawing a measure of Their cool infinity
to quench the thirst of humankind for Love
Elm Grove
tended by those helpers of the Guardians
whose hearts and souls
acquit them for their gentle task
of nourishing
i thank you.
i who am not yet of an age
to draw upon the Water for myself
but who
without its peace
would surely die
by Laurel Lloyd-Jones | Jun 21, 2023 | Poetry
Sister Laurel Clare Lloyd-Jones lfsf (1st January 1989)
For I inhabit a Grove wherein is my God,
my house of cedar and pine
is not of this place
but one with it.
Our home, simple and small, but not too small,
is always accessible to those who seek solace.
Surrounded by kookaburras who laugh and look down
to share our joy.
Wombats nestle near the two rivers,
sacred to the ancients who roamed this holy place,
and rugged blue – grey mountains cloaked in eucalypts
tell the distance at evening’s light.
I am heart glad to be as poor as this
for such riches – yellow, gold our Autumn elms
and fiery poplar tongues shout God’s majesty
as the rushing, singing rivers
grow chilled as nature sleeps.
Young of all creatures come to our door
restoring our faith and love.
Our orphaned joey grown to fullness and health
returns at dawn to share our day.
And at evening the wild geese fly
the resting earth sighs and moves.
Strong breezes cry aloud
and our praises rise
to the shining jewels above.
The river’s trout jump as the Marsh fly seeks its prey
and the long summer days roll over us
sweetening the berry and the nut
as we go to our rest satisfied.
For music we have the wind through the elms,
the cry of the velvet gang-gang, the tinkling rain drops,
the rushing flood,
so how can I know envy of others?
I see the rhythm of my Soul, I know the closeness of my God
I share these gifts of wonder with all who enter here
as I live this paradise
and know it as my inheritance.