FIBONACCI POETRY

VIRGINIA GOW

Friday, May 6, 2011

LADY ANNE

LADY ANNE
                 
Lady Anne was invited to Manila for breakfast
Famous Anne, elegant Anne.
She flew in from Dubbo for Peter’s birthday
Designer Peter, amusing Peter.

Peter is sixty. Lady Anne is much older.
They have a shared history.
Have faded past glories.
Whispers of intrigue draws a curtain around them.

A fabulous Lady, who holds her style gracefully.
She wears her splendour tied up with a ribbon in her hair.
Manila sparkled with renewed vigour.
Welcomed the Lady back to her palaces.


They wander the Casa, so steeped in history.
Spanish rule dominated for five hundred years.
They slide into shadows of Chinese Cemetery,
An unusual choice for a sixtieth celebration.

At walled Intramuros, that infamous prison
In the footsteps of Dr.Rizal they follow.
A party of difference
To learn of rebellion and freedom’s dream.

They question the safety of riding a jeepna,
Especially one called 'Chariot of God'.
It was a day to remember
A gossamer birthday.

'Peter is sixty.
Lady Anne much younger now.
Petals of friendship'












DESERT WEAVING.
“IN HONOUR OF PIPPA”

I named Pippa Miss Universe when I first met her in the desert. She was dressed in white, a slender frame carried with elegance. Her high cheekbones and polite conversation delivered with an exotic accent suggested ladylike tendencies of a European nature. Only later did I learn that she was of German extraction from Dorrigo. Our connection was casual, but deepened dramatically when we worked together on a project that I called “the bubble incident”.
We had said our goodbyes to the Finke River Camp. A bus had arrived to take us back to the Alice. Unfortunately, the river sand was soft and the bus bogged down deep into the earth.
The desert sisters formed a circle and started a chanting. They were chanting a “bubble” around the bus so that it would move. This was too much for some of the party. They realized that no amount of song wishes would move a bus. Why would it? Physical strength and practical knowhow was needed. About eight sisters extracted themselves from the circle and started working. They piled stones under the wheels of the bus, building a solid path for the bus to try to back up on. Pippa was one of these people. We worked like navies till the bus moved.
Pippa and I were invited to ride back with one of the tour men, Ron, in a jeep. One the way we stopped at Simpson’s Creek, and Ron “painted up” Pippa and myself with the ochre from the surrounding clay pans. It was a joyous connection for Pippa and myself. I didn’t wash the ochre off till morning.
The next time I felt Pippa’s spirit was at the Memorial Gathering held at Ulli’s home. I remember the photo displayed on a sideboard, surrounded by candles, offerings, and friends. In this photo, Pippa lay in state, encased in white, eyes closed by death. She was just like Miss Universe, a queen in heaven, God bless her.
Virginia Jean Gow
27/09/10

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Thursday, September 16, 2010

BIODIVERSITY IN COLOUR

Science Week was celebrated at Manly’s North Head, “Sunday at the Sanctuary – a living lab” on Sunday, 22nd August.
Several artists were invited By Manly Environment Centre to contribute to this celebration of Biodiversity by creating visual images in a range of diverse media.
As a participating artist my response to the concept of biodiversity was to focus on the brilliant colours that surrounded me.
These brilliant colours from Nature’s bountiful palette represented a challenge for me.
Our Australian bush is so rich in subtle shades and tints that the eye is dazzled by the diversity of greens and the richness of browns and ochres.
Everywhere the complementary pairs of red and green, blue and orange, purple and yellow were caught in the interplay of light and shadow.
Beyond my easel a brilliant blue sky contrasted with the vivid orange of a gravel parade ground.
I selected Cerulean Blue as my main primary colour and Cadmium Orange as the complementary secondary shade.
By mixing and tinting with a dash of black and a pinch of white my palette became a diverse blend of warm and cool, light and dark, rich and subtle.
From the brightness of fern to the silver green and pink foliage of new gum leaves colour danced across my eyes.
I felt very privileged to be sharing this celebration of biodiversity with fellow artists who each expressed a unique response to our site.
Our site symbolized for us the endless variety of Nature’s creative life force, her bountiful expressions through form, texture, colour and light.
As we artists’ worked our own creative magic I felt a surge of grateful wonder at the visual splendor of Nature’s canvas.







Thursday, April 28, 2011

flash fiction Abstraction in August


Abstraction in August                                                            

We sat in the far corner of the Art Gallery Café.
Just finished viewing Paths to Abstraction.
An insipid collection of works by renowned painters,
who would have been surprised that these experimental works
made their presence felt in any art museum wall.

Perhaps it was the lack of clean, bright colour in the collection that caused me to notice the living painting sitting,
upright.
On the soft, red couch that hugged the flake white back wall of café.

She sat so still, as though carved in marble.
Her face, fine boned and beautiful,
smooth white, like a geishas,
with the mailbox red lips,
observing the flow of people and space.

Her swan neck ringed with giant, white pearls
mirrored the pearl drops from her ears.
Her silken, white, well groomed, shiny hair hung down and curled under,
shoulder length.

Her woollen black jacket was smart and well cut, encasing a white blouse
made of silk.
The black slacks had a white slim line stripe on the side,
Red shoes finished the ride.

As she slide out, ladylike, to leave,
I could not but help to exclaim
“You look like a complete work of art!”

My cheek felt the whisper of a fingered white glove.
Bowing low to my ear, her voice softly sighed,
“Thank you, my dear. You have just made my day. To live in Art is divine.”


SHADOW WATCHER

Ever walked along the boardwalk from the ferry wharf at Manly, traveling east, gazing at the long shadows cast by the afternoon sun?

Rob watched his shadow walk, in large, black bubble sneakers, and thought he walked like Charlie Chaplin.

On this particular afternoon, the tide was particularly high.

Floating in it were all sorts of plastic rubbish, a blue milk carton, a red bread tray.
There were bits of bark and a sculptured lump from a tree.

The sea would have been rough and scary earlier, surging up against the seawall.
Allowing it to be dictated to by the August winds, the wash had hurled itself against boats and sand, spilling over onto grass, dragging debris from the shoreline into its depths.

Covered in bark and seaweed, black long fizzy hair was barely visible to the onlooker on shore.

As Rob concentrated on the lump covered in slime from the sea, he now saw, between each wave motion, more of the gruesome human relic that was being washed ashore.  

Like a fish gasping for air, the mouth gaped open, but even from the wall he could tell that the eyes, glassed and dull, had ceased seeing anything.

Still the body appeared fresh, like a doll someone had accidently dropped overboard on the last Manly ferry crossing.

Now here is something he did not see everyday, a freshly minted corpse. He grasped his mobile and called 999.

This was way out of his league.





Philippines


Philippines 


Boat
Skimming lightly
Flashing blue-white
Waves lapping out-rigger
Silently
Language challenged
I slip over
Wooden planks and into air
Stare down into the deep
Mesmerizingly
Swift
The thought of survival
Shall these bonny boatmen
Hostage take of me
Over to Mindinao
Where
Pearlers dive and risk their lives
For pretty treasures
Or shall I return to Boracay
And carry home
Strings of pink, white and black
Purchased at a discreet market
Vetted by Police and Mayor
Gifts for my sisters.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011


A MORGAN DAY  2011

Easter came and went and we didn’t notice
How fast the days until
We met .
Breakfasted on tasty treats,
Viewed the beach on this sunlit morn.

Because I love to ride the ferry,
We traveled “overseas”.

City turned bleak.
A movie, ”Thor” with his mighty war hammer,
We  watched
A Nordic tale of valor.
Odin, Asgard, Loki,  Gardian adventures.

A common interest,
We savoured the myth.

We dined at the Quay
Conversed casually,
In boothed surroundings.
Weaving sorrow with joy,
Some spark of hope,

An intimate exchange, 
We gleamed truths.

Home to our separate lives,
Forgotten,
I found the Special Dark Chocolate Easter Rabbit
Bought for you when I remembered Easter.
So I ate it!


OUT ON THE TOWN

OUT ON THE TOWN.

Sit
At a restaurant beside Circular Quay
Eyes to the Harbour Bridge flit
Coat hanging dreaming harbour.
Sparkle splattered Luna Park lit.

Watch
People stroll past, row upon row.
All manner of humankind.
Cosy chair beckons,
Play movie inside the mind. 

Dine
Lobster, Maître De whispers, ”Eat with fingers.”
Place is set with pieces of eight.
“Prince William is in town”.
Beyond ancient sandstone gate.

Wonder
Would he wish to dine here?
Eat lobster with his bird.
Be free and anonymous
Survey the scene, unheard.

Listen
Shuffling sound of ferry boats,
A hundred chattering crows,
Eyes alive and glowing,
Ears are conveniently closed.

Remember
Dining here so many times with Mother.
Plate of sweet fantail.
Colour crowds softly around the edges.
Time becomes a sail.




Monday, March 14, 2011

JAPAN



JAPAN                                                               
Land of subtle images
Fuel imagination.
Tea ceremony
Master, welcoming guests.
Garden meditations
Stone humility.

Haiku poetry
Precise language.
Ikebana
Perfect floral balance.
Origami
Folding paper art. 

Kimono
Bright flash of colour in grey crowded train.
Nighting-gale painted geisha
Carrying music to her appointment.  
Grey robed monks
Wander down ancient alleys.

White ribbons                                                                        
Devotional duties in temple.
Samurai warriors
In business suits.
Collective mindset
Participating in acute behavior.

Bullet trains
In tune with timetables.
Rapid delivery
Faraway towns and villages.
Hidden smiles
Mountain village with bathhouse.

Communal circle of potters
Around a blazing fire.
Snow laden branches
Shield white mountain path.
Secret healing springs
Guard an epic past.

Land of shrouded paths                                                               
Hushed morning crisp.
Snow monkeys
Frolic in the mountain’s steamy stream.
Breathe escapes in puffs
Like steam from puffing-billy engine. 

Red gates standing in lakes.
Design minimalistic in conception.
Strong guardianship
Bless this land. 
Golden temple
Lined by red and gold wooden pillars.

"All is sweet rhythm.
People silently moving,
Grateful for this time."




Preview

JAPAN


Land of subtle images
Fuel for imagination.

Tea ceremony
Master honouring guests.

Garden meditations
Stone humility.

Haiku poetry
Precise language.

Ikebana
floral balance.

Origami
folding paper art. 

Kimono
Bright flash of colour in grey crowded train.

Nighting-gale painted geisha
Carrying music to her appointment.  

Grey robed monks
wander down ancient alleys.

White ribbons
Devotional duties in temple.

Samurai warriors
in business suits.

Collective mindset
participating in acute behaviour.

Bullet trains
in tune with timetables.

Rapid delivery
to faraway towns and villages.

Hidden smiles
Mountain village with bathhouse.

Communal circle of potters
Around a blazing fire.

Snow laden branches.
shield white mountain path.

Secret healing springs,
guard an epic past.

Land of shrouded paths
Hushed morning crisp.

Snow monkeys
frolic in the mountain’s steamy stream.

Breathe escapes in puffs,
Like steam from puffing-billy engine. 

Red gates standing in lakes.
Design minimalistic in conception.

Strong guardianship
Bless this land. 

Golden temple
lined by red and gold wooden pillars.

Pillars donated by families:
Dynastic rememberence. 

People
silently moving, all in sweet rhythm.

Deeply grateful for this time.

Sunday, March 13, 2011


MY SISTERS OF A DESERT DREAMING.

We gather, as writers in the park,
Sisters of a desert dreaming.
Beckoned to meet at Lion’s Gate
A gate known by many names,
Henry Lawson’s amongst them.
We meet and greet with smiles and hugs.
We wander down pathways to find a shady tree
And nestled down, share a picnic repast, and rosy tea.
Great bats lie vertically in the noonday sun.
Aboriginal maidens swish-swash walk on by, twirling branches of gum leaves.
The men walk by with skin-stockings marked with traditional designs,
They jest with us and give performers’ laughter.
They have just performed for the Governor of NSW at an event,
The launching of a sandstone sculpture that mimics nature’s own.
Batman, in his ranger suit, counts the number of bats in our tree.
A bat’s dropping falls on my hand.
I casually wipe it away. It may carry disease.
Culling time is soon to come, he tells us.
The bats will be blasted with sonic music and they will fly away from here.
Will they spit in fear and spread the dreaded virus where they roost
In some suburban backyard, finding cats, dogs and humans to infect?
Better to bag them up and place them in the bin.
I would rather leave them be, but the date is set for their demise.
We lie on the grass energized by the earth’s magnetic touch.
Talk is of wisdom and worries, chanting exit worries strategies
Peace descends on this edenic masterpiece as we celebrate this day of new beginnings.


Tuesday, March 1, 2011

TRAVEL LIGHT




Learn to travel light!
Tumble-down, turn around life.
Seek hermitic way.


(a simple haiku)


Monday, January 24, 2011

Gin's Song for Tilba


                  GIN’S SONG OF TILBA
                                by
                        Virginia Gow
                           21/01/11   

Verse 1

He was born in a barn way down in Tilba
He was raised as a hippy making hay
But he came to the city
To look for someone pretty
And there he decided to stay

Chorus

He sang,
It’s cold in those hills
But I still miss the mountain
Raining all the time, so verdant green
People there were kind of square
With baggy clothes and lanky hair
Those Tilba rainbow lovers were never mean.



Verse 2

He married himself a fancy lady
Had a house, a car, a boat and a mortgagee
He didn’t mind at all
He was having such a ball
Interviewing illegal emigraees 

Chorus


He sang,
It’s cold in those hills
But I still miss the mountain
Raining all the time, so verdant green
People there were kind of square
With baggy clothes and lanky hair
Those Tilba rainbow lovers were never mean.


Verse 3

They buried him in a big, black box in Tilba
Took his body home to be beside the sea
Throughout his tempestuous life,
Wild adventures, some little strife,
He never lost sight of the memories.

Chorus:



He sang,
It’s cold in those hills
But I still miss the mountain
Raining all the time, so verdant green
People there were kind of square
With baggy clothes and lanky hair
Those Tilba rainbow lovers were never mean.

Rod's song for Slim

                Rod’s Song for Slim
                                 by
                Rod Gow and Virginia Gow.

Verse 1

I’ve been around the top end
For the better part of my life
I’ve often been in trouble
Sometimes I’ve been in strife
I soon found out what life’s about
Among the top end mob
They help you with your problems and
They get on with the job.

Chorus:

I like the top end way of life
The people are true blue
And  a place is just it’s people
Be it many, or few.

Verse 2

When I first arrived at the top end
With a prayer and a couple of bob
A smart young southern city bloke
Found myself with a newspaper job.
Setting type and spinning yarns
Loved to leave my mark on a story
Hidden in the type, a message clear
That was my kind of glory.


Chorus:

I like the top end way of life
The people are true blue
And a place is just it’s people
Be it many, or few.


Verse 3

I learnt to roll with folky mob
With my girl from Parramatta
Songbird sweethearts, melting hearts away
We quietened all the chatter
One dark night, on the way to a gig
My bike ran into a car
Now I sing up the sun through the morning’s mist
You see, I have traveled so far.

Chorus:


I like the top end way of life
The people are true blue
And a place is just it’s people
Be it many, or few.

                    

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Manly Poets' Group 03/01/11

I sit
Sit on a post
Post is russet-red
Russet-red, like my couch.
Couch beckons today
Today cool-rain day
Day of my first co-ordination
Co-ordination, ordination of my time
Time to be with the Poets' Group
Group to see my reliability
Reliability is my Manly reputation
Reputation of doing a given task.
Task of turning up
Turning up, even though it's a public holiday.
Public holiday, and the Library is closed!
Closed, but my mind is open.
Open to the reality of a poem