Anne Benjamin, Jan Foster, Marilyn Humbert & Carmel Summers
Waiting for the Day
she pins white blossoms in her hair petals of ash from a moon on fire ab
Hope
We stare out over a ravaged landscape, everything in sight now reduced to charred stumps, unrecognisable. Heatwaves shimmer, distorting outlines of ruined buildings, machinery, blurring the shape of what was once our life. He stands beside me, cradling the shotgun, his pockets loaded with our remaining bullets for anything still living but with no chance of survival.
Then through the numbness encasing us comes a sound, a steady beat that grows as a military chopper lands by the burnt remains of the fence. We watch, stunned, as grey-clad warriors leap to the ground and form a chain, passing boxes of supplies from hand to hand, piling them at our feet.
A man steps forward, touches the brim of his cap, and extends his hand.
drops fall on devastation tears of relief, regret, drench the parched earth jf
Phoenix
Tell us the story of the phoenix, Dad …
A few short months after the dragon’s summer foraging, the first green sprouts push through plundered earth, frilly leaflets erupt from the remains of forests still standing. Again homes, villages, and communities are raised. Lost trees are replaced encouraging birds and animals to return and the children plant flowering shrubs summoning bees and butterflies.
is it a mirage… his chest muscles flex under searing sun hammering the song of healing mh
Water Dragons
These dragons have left the risky bush to become city dwellers. In an urban park, they have learned to hide in dense beds of flowering shrubs, to swim in ponds, to feast on bees as they forage in flower beds. They have evolved, becoming larger, their limbs longer, claws less defined as they live free from predators; no need to scurry up trees, unafraid of the humans around them.
instinctive mating rituals unchanged nature’s resilience in a changing world cs
The Displaced
On the day of my return, I notice the difference immediately. As I look westward, I see the bare hill that rises above the distant highway. I shouldn’t see this. Something is missing: the neighbour’s oak tree still stands, but now its top branches are hacked off. Metres high. Metres wide. A favoured spot at dusk for feathered flitting and chattering.
a single crow on the savaged stump beneath the space where lorikeets hover in my mind ab
The Visit
It’s been two and half years since he left Australia to follow his career. This tall, bearded man. This child-no-more. He walks into my home, formerly his too. He notes the changes in the house, I note the changes in him. He settles into a chair as though he had never been away and, at the same time, as though for the first time. It’s a short visit. Every minute precious.
early morning foraging in my front yard a group of choughs each year they return scratch my garden to a mess cs
Fashions on the Field
The people of this small country town are elated. Their annual picnic race meeting will go ahead after all. A recent disaster had left the track and its surrounding fields and buildings in ruins but after many long hours of hard work, the track has been restored. Tents have been erected, horse floats are filling the side fields and people are arriving from all the surrounding districts.
This meeting is always an important part of the town’s calendar, and this year a special event is planned.
before the races a fashion parade on stage stealing the spotlight junior models shyly pace jf
Thwarted
How many times does it have to happen? Finding myself in a situation not of my choosing, not of my making?
I’d been brought for a medical procedure—a vasectomy—with two female companions to keep me calm. An opportunistic moment and we escape loping along the pavement: the city stops for three baboons on the loose.
just when I see a chance to embrace freedom enforcers wait in line with open arms ab
There must be more …
Kookaburras’ laughter welcomes the lightening sky. This morning after months of planning, our motorbike packed, trailer hitched. We saddle up, mobile phones and laptops left behind, breathe in the heady mix of petrol fumes and worn tar towards little travelled tracks.
we ride the lazy river road, flip a coin at the intersection and follow the wind mh
Outback Autumn
The night is stitched with countless, shimmering pearls plucked from my lady’s veil. Here beside the trickling creek, frost is starting to settle on russet leaves not yet fallen from the trees surrounding our camp. The bark of a vixen splits the stillness. There is scurrying, the rustle of grass, creatures heading for safety.
our search far from the familiar for peace— this outback night feet scatter fallen leaves mh
Hunkering Down
Winter comes early. We seek shelter in our homes under invisible clouds. Who knows who carries this infection? Even those closest to us can be a threat.
breaking free into afternoon sunshine two lorikeets in a grevillea stock up on nectar ab
Return
The mood in the cabin is boisterous, relief fizzing between us as we clamber aboard. Our embassy has ordered a special aircraft to rescue us travellers as all flights both in and out have otherwise been cancelled.
playing outside with neighbourhood kids as twilight falls Dad’s call summons us time to come in jf
Distances
How can I resent these glorious seasonal days? Oaks in my street are tipping gold, roses in their final, flagrant flush; skies are flawless blue… On daily walks, some folk smile, say hello; others look away as though afraid. Back inside my home, I search for ways to make believe that I am not alone.
distances social, geographic my family learning to make do with a virtual hug cs
Captives
They’ve been married how long now? She’s finding it hard to remember. An unlikely couple, people used to say, but, hey, they’ve rattled on together for years: he, scholarly, slow-speaking, and patient; she, less predictable, well, maybe even a little bit shrewish at times, or at least nagging, with her nasally accent. They’d moved along like a cart with mismatched wheels, and mostly, they’d been just fine.
She calls each day. That’s all she can do. The nurses tell her he often cries, calling for her from his hospital bed.
she dreams her hands are tied as she sinks deep under water she wakes to isolation ab
International Space Station
It flies at 17,500 miles per hour, almost three times faster than an aircraft; like a very bright star travelling through our sky. This evening, if the clouds clear, I will be able to see it just above the south-west horizon at 6.01 pm. And if I could reach out, I would travel with it, look down at my daughter and her family in Nottingham, as I pass overhead. And if she is awake, at 4.22 am, three days hence, and looks up. She might see me as I blow a kiss.
a shooting star streaks across the sky burns and dies important to catch each chance to light the lives of others cs
Dawn Vigil
All month they have practiced, notes resounding around our morning, noon, and lunar-lit night. A call has gone out for buglers and trumpeters to play Last Post and Reveille for a special ANZAC Day remembrance service during Covid-19 lockdown.
This morning at 5.30 am neighbourhoods across Australia gather, each family at the end of their driveway ready for the dawn service.
the silver crescent slips behind sunrise gold buglers’ notes fill our hearts, valleys and streets, lest we forget mh
Staying in Touch
In today’s mail, I find a letter from an old friend. Inside are 7 hand-written pages and several photos, detailing her life since her last communication. Our connection has stood strong over almost 6 decades, beginning as newly-weds and neighbours, and seeing us through raising our families, sharing our lives on all levels. Even the separation of distance hasn’t dented our closeness. In this time of enforced isolation, through these pages and photos, I hear the sound of her voice and the literal touch of her hand. They are a balm to my loneliness.
sleepy chatter of birds in the hedge as dusk falls I soothe my soul with the warmth of memories jf
Something in the Air
The winter solstice has come and gone; days are beginning to slowly lengthen. Despite the coldest part of the year still ahead, daffodil shoots, those early harbingers, bravely thrust their spears through the soil.
if you listen you just might hear it something stirring …the steady footfalls approaching Spring jf
Blossoming
Our nine-year-old grandson is staying over. It’s been 3 or 4 months since we have spent time with him. He is still pale and thin, jumpy with nervous energy. Still turns his head checking the back deck for birds in the yard. We notice changes too, he sits a little quieter while we talk, but the biggest change, he is reading independently. He tells us he likes school now.
confident our grandson reads for the first time big smiles unfold… this bud bursts open mh
Watching Through the Day
my friend’s new picture book
on Zoom
distance disappears… as
I read to my grand-daughter
cs
Editor’s Note: Marilyn Humbert shared when submitting for the group:
We wrote “Waiting for the Day” over a period of 8 months, starting in November 2019 when bushfires raged along Australia’s east coast, through the months of emerging Covid-19 and then lockdown. The sequence was finished in August 2020.
About the Authors
Anne Benjamin is a Sydney-based writer. Her publications include her memoir, Saffron and Silk. An Australian in India (2016). Gemstones, an anthology of collaborative tanka (2016), and Not Forgotten, an anthology of biographies. Her poetry and stories are regularly published in Australian and international literary journals.
Jan Foster lives in Geelong, on Australia’s southern coastline. She loves to write tanka, tanka prose, haiku, haibun as well as responsive sequences with friends.
Marilyn Humbert lives in the Northern suburbs of Sydney NSW Australia. Her tanka and haiku appear in international and Australian journals, anthologies, and online. Her free-verse poems have been awarded prizes in competitions, published online and in anthologies.
Carmel Summers’ first book of responsive tanka, The last day before snow, written with eight Australian poets, was awarded the ACT Publisher’s Award for Poetry in 2017. Her work appears in a number of collections and journals, in Australia and overseas. She has an MA in Creative Writing from Macquarie University.