A waterwheel that slowly turns,
A river there that swiftly churns,
A secret garden in the sunWhere lazy dreams are gently spun.
Where is this drowsy mill house found, Where insects buzz in sleepy sound?
In France! For there, midst ancient walls,
Legends live and history calls.
The sun melts
into the far hills;
the lake catches fire
as the heat spills.
Night is coming now
this land to fill;
will tomorrow be
more perfect still?
A Tjuntjuntjara desert dog
Is howling at the moon.
Just one at first, then more join in
This ancient howling growling tune.
[Don’t ask me why.
It’s the just their way.
They’ve done it every single day
Since dogs began!]
And very soon, and very soon,
The entire yip-yap yelping mob,
Yes, the whole red-dirt platoon
Of Tjuntjuntjara desert dogs
Is howling at the moon.
Stewart Ennis is from Bridge of Weir, Scotland. Since the 1980s he’s worked in Scottish theatre as writer, deviser, performer and occasional photographer. He was creative writing tutor in Scottish prisons and editor of Causeway/Cabhsair magazine of new Irish & Scottish writing. His plays, poems, stories and photographs have appeared on a number of stages, pages and platforms. A debut novel Blessed Assurance was published in 2020. Recent work includes writing the children’s film animation Yoyo & The Little Auk for Royal Scottish National Orchestra. He’s currently at Curtin University for the second year of an Aberdeen-Curtin Alliance scholarship PhD in creative writing. He recently some time in wonderful Tjuntjuntjara documenting the Spinifex artists at work and play.
Upon arrival of September
There’s one thing I do remember:
Winter’s gone and spring is here
Bringing warmth back to the year.
Giving us more outdoor fun,
Extra time beneath the sun.
Walking barefoot on the grass,
Sipping fruit juice from a glass.
Football finals if you’re keen;
Horses racing on the green.
Pack your coats and gloves away,
Birds within your backyard play.
Birthing time for kangaroos,
Platypus and wombats too.
Blossoms grow with colours fair,
Pollen floating through the air.
Of spring I’m a great believer,
So why now must I have hay fever?
How can I smell a lovely rose
When suffering from an itchy nose?
I long to feel the evening breeze
Without an urge to cough and sneeze.
But let me cast those thoughts asunder;
Spring should be a time of wonder.
So sit beneath a shady tree,
Go watch the surfers at the sea.
I love the springtime sunset skies,
Albeit seen through teary eyes.
In a Polish village,
opening to the sun,
I found all these flowers
when spring had well begun.
What a splash of colour,
I was lucky to be there,
where ancient wooden houses
huddled round the square.
“Hello, kid,” the orangutan said.
“You look very familiar.”
“That’s because,” the young boy said,
“We’re both very similar.”
“But I don’t live in a house, boy,”
The wise orangutan said.
“It doesn’t matter,” the young boy said,
“Where you lay your head…
“The fact is, you and I are friends
“From way back deep in time.”
“If that is so,” the orangutan said,
“Put your hand in mine.”
Teacher’s note: In Bahasa (Indonesian and Malay languages), orang means “man” or “person”, while utan means “jungle”. Thus, the orangutan is a man of the forest. Many experts now believe that the orangutan — not the chimpanzee — is closest to humans in traits and characteristics.
A custom cut from nose to butt
is what the “Mutt Hutt” does
Snipping, styling the latest trends
and shaving through the fuzz
In through the in door
disarrayed and dirty as can be
Out through the out door
transformed to a beauty queen
Pushing up through cold earth.
Determined. Never failing.
The green leaves set the stage.
Presenting – the grand unveiling.
Blushing petals open shyly,
Revealing more to the sun.
Frilly ruff thrown back in triumph.
Yellow face. Spring’s begun.
One willie wagtail sang a sweet song,
he was joined by another
before very long.
Two willie wagtails built a snug nest
with feathers and flowers
and leaves softly pressed.
Three willie wagtails perched in a tree,
mummy and daddy
and baby makes three.
The temperature is rising
There’s music in the air
From birds singing loudly
Their mating calls do fair.
Bare trees now blossom
As bulbs come back to life
The sweet call of Spring
The drake looks for his wife.
Colours surrounds us
On breeze a sweet scent rides
It’s full of new beginnings
It’s Spring where hope resides.
