Homeland

by Michael Keeling

It’s the road to nowhere
in a landscape of light
where shade is the brim of your hat

It’s a turbulent sea
of greenish-blue
on spray-breaking rocks

It’s the white sand
of an endless shore
under cloudless skies

It’s the shimmering mirage
of expectation
and the joy of arrival

It’s the mountain pass,
the winding track
and the exhilaration of being

It’s the trees, the shrubs,
the audacious flowers
on a multicoloured carpet

It’s the undulating
cheetah’s back
in pursuit of buck

It is, above all, the space,
the emptiness enclosed
in distant purple mountains

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Earth to Sky

by Elizabeth Trew

Earth in her glory scatters blue light
in her changing sky
Earth that gives sky her waters
whose tidal flows heap with her moon
made luminous by night
Earth that joins sky
each day on a ruffled horizon
Earth that stretches each force
of her turning
knows every song, rhythm
each breath, voice of wind
Earth that kicks yellow sand into sky

Sky that touches Earth’s lakes, rivers, oceans
lifting gift waters
knows each watery form and colour –
spectrum haloes, arcs, rainbows
sun-dogs that follow the sun
sky that swirls over grasslands and mountains
bends into lush valleys
with winds that whirl, whistle and keen
over village and city
sky that brings dew to each desert
builds clouds of dark monuments
beats down its rain and rinses Earth clean

Earth in her poverty locked in her dungeon
bleeds battle-scarred
Earth looted besieged
Earth raped forsaken
rainforests taken
land and lakes garbage islands
Earth struggling to breathe
and renew ashy nests

Earth: home

Wall

by Lise Day

I like these stones
round in my palms
demanding none of my skills
but the placing

Table Mountain sandstone
sun-warm boulders
required only to stay
where they’re put

Low winter sun
on my shoulders
packing a wall
putting down roots

Bright vygie crevices
gecko tanning ledges
rock hopping toddlers
inhabit my wall

Not to keep flowers in
nor peacocks out
just defining my space
is what it’s about.

my house

by Lise Day

We lived on the middle floor
many rooms, airy, comfortable
wallpapered with words
curtained with laughter.
Space for three children
two black dogs
a one-eyed cat
and a husband.

Beneath a trapdoor
is the cellar,
dank and dark,
with room for nasty secrets
to clink in corners.
I hate to descend
the steep steps
to this underworld.

Now I live alone in the loft
open skylights let in sun and stars
to allow poems to float up.
Paint flows from my fingers
daubing bright walls,
the doors unlocked, the stairs broad,
I stand on my patchwork rug
and stretch my arms wide.