Fragile Dreams

July 26, 2015July 26, 2015 / jthorndyke / Leave a comment

the transparent weave
of this vintage tea-cloth
my fragile dreams
still hand-dried and polished
by the faded green linen

Julie Thorndyke

first published by Kirsten Cliff in Swimming in Lines of Haiku 2012

Two Tanka

July 23, 2015July 22, 2015 / jthorndyke / Leave a comment

my lord, my peace
I long for you–
in these familiar places
in all the absent faces
I look for you

driving through
deeply shaded avenues
pockets of truth
shadow-hidden between
bright shards of sunlight

Julie Thorndyke

first published in Eureka Street Vol 19 No 21 2009

Sonnets From The Kitchen

July 22, 2015July 26, 2015 / jthorndyke / 1 Comment

I’ll write a sonnet built of liquorice tea
of almond flakes and sponge with raspb’ry jam
no one shall taste the meaning save for me –
it shall be hidden well in seasoned ham.
The bite of lemon on my eager tongue
sweet berries mixed with mascarpone cheese
I wipe away the sugar when I’m done,
leave to the sparrows crumbs that do not please.
Let sweet and savoury pies be rolled and filled
roast beef and parsnips, mustard, gravy boiled;
fresh lemon sole be caught and finely grilled
my fork with fettuccine nicely coiled.
My tonsils from their sweet hot cave rejoice:
the pastry chef has given me a voice.

I cut the grease with water boiling hot
detergent bubbling like a snow capped dome
I wash the words to see what they are not
and look for silver tines to take them home.
What shall the ending couplet now expound?
I’ve cleaned and polished language to the bone
fresh tastes, exotic spices rarely found
but still the sonnet leaves me not alone.
I search the cookbook longing for a taste
of wild plums that will raise my poem high:
why let the shortcrust pastry go to waste?
For even little Jack played in his pie.
I take my finger from the pot of jam
go out into the world, see who I am.

Julie Thorndyke

first published in Phoenix : The University of Sydney Writers Journal 2006 p. 108

Nearly a decade since I wrote these “tongue in cheek” sonnets in Judith Beveridge’s poetry class at USYD.

They still make me smile 🙂

Café Poet at Muse Gallery

July 18, 2015July 21, 2015 / jthorndyke / 2 Comments

It is always great to find a congenial place in which to write. Too easy, if at home, to spend time doing the domestic tasks that return, week after week. The washing, the tidying, the ironing…

Writing tends to take last priority.

Recently I heard about Muse Gallery opening at Castle Hill, so I went along to see the work of local artists on display. Tucked away in an industrial estate, in a warehouse space transformed by Mary Louise into a vibrant gallery, I knew instantly that this was a place to which I would return. When I learnt that there was a café opening in the gallery, I was hooked. An artist and wordsmith herself, Mary Louise has generously allowed me to take on the role of Café Poet.

I am looking forward to many hours enjoying the work of our local visual artists, sipping a coffee, and scribbling away.

Haibun

July 18, 2015July 18, 2015 / jthorndyke / Leave a comment

Tending to the Miraculous

I haven’t watered the garden for more than a year. I take water restrictions seriously. I have not dobbed in the neighbours who water their lawns in the dark of night; I have not installed a rain water tank. I have just let the garden ‘be’.

Dark pink daisies by the letter box erupted first. A crowd of round, dense cerise heads watching me as I look for letters. Someone next door has pruned the buds from my star jasmine. I try not to let the anger rise. I’d been looking forward to the white star petals. I carry two bills and a writers’ newsletter across moss-rimmed bricks up the drive. Violets on long, vigorous stems emerge from every crevice of the rockery. Twisted vines of purple sarsaparilla cover the native frangipani. Lillipilli berries cluster amongst glossy rippled leaves.

After a weekend away we arrive home to a burst of yellow—freesias are out, all across the lawn, under the budding maple tree, amongst the azaleas which have never looked so well. I make smelly posies to fill the house with their grandma fragrance.

Today the lavender heads are opening and a flush of roses revel in unexpected spring rain. The strident tones of TV politicians denounce the other side, watering their crop of terror. I look at my miracle garden and wonder at the resilience of spring—someone, somewhere, is tending the garden.

spring rain
the bowed head
of the peace rose

Julie Thorndyke

First published Contemporary Haibun Online December 2006, vol 2 no 4