Clouds weaving their way through bare branches
of autumnal trees, knitting blankets
to protect themselves from winter’s chills.
The first frosty morning and
magpies are suddenly urgent,
carolling, ordering breakfast.
The sun shines brilliant icy needles
On my face. Winter’s on its way
And I must speed my journeying.
Acadia, late Autumn
Wind runs its fingers through
the seafrets greying hair.
Hawthorns polish berries
ever brighter, small lamps
to lighten lowering skies.
Winter looks out the cloths
it uses to polish
Deer grind the hardening
grass between their teeth,
storing starch to help them
through the coming time of
death and darkness. Only
the trilling voices of
choirboy robins offer
any indication of
Joe Massingham was born in the UK but has lived the second half of his life in Australia .
Major employment has been as a Navy officer, university student from first degree to PhD, tutor, lecturer and Master of Wright College, University of New England , NSW.
He has run his own writing and editing business but retired early because of cancer and heart problems and now spends time waiting to see medical practitioners, writing poetry and prose and smelling the roses.
He has had work published in Australia , Eire , India , NZ , UK , and USA .
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