Friday Poem:

A few weeks ago a large grass fire burnt past our tiny town – too close for comfort. Two houses were lost, as well as kilometers of fence and hundreds of unlucky sheep. On it’s way around, the fire went through the cemetery, which is now bright green after 30 ml or so of rain, due to it being a refuge for native Kangaroo Grass, as well as the dead. I’ve taken several walks there with my camera since the fire, and it was only on the third visit that I noticed that many Victorian grave decorations – glass domes with white porcelain flowers inside – are still there, in varying states of repair.a walk 1

The glass dome
reflects the changing sky
passing clouds moon
stars sunset and dawn.

Inside the dome
porcelain flowers
wire and metal leaves
remain unchanged
unchanging in
deathless inert repose.

Late in the day
the sun slants across
the sleeping stones
wind sighs
among the graves.

The glass dome
full of flowers
rests on a grave
reflects the ever-changing sky.a walk 2

On a summer evening, the cemetery is a quiet place, peaceful and open to the sky – an ideal place to wander for a while with a camera in hand, and contemplate life, death and the whole damn thing.a walk 3


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