Ripe, you hover
in the closing night.        
Earth’s shadow stalks    
then swallows, bite                     
by blood-orange bite
in the slide and shift of orbit
until, safe from the hungering
beast of prophesy, you
gather your scattered light
in a slow rebirth.
Bonney Bombach

You haven’t walked this beach, Pierre!
Perhaps instead some Mediterranean idyll
between mathematics
and music….                                
till now that is,
your scattered light plugged into
my sea-spray ears
But see,
white lilies bloom in sand, their
strappy leaves and spidery petals
like you, improvise
Hands race over keyboard,
syncopated nods
to Messiaen  and Schoenberg
Your crashing chords and baton beat
animate my seaweed step,
but Maestro, leap fast this octave
before high-tide floods
Bonney Bombach  


Turgid sea
gunmetal sky       
wind enough to topple.
Storm threatens
then aims its bite
elsewhere, and we
like thirsting dogs
pant still
Bonney Bombach

  From patient bed of sand
at sea’s edge 
we scan a sky
extravagant with stars
Time stills, our breath
stolen by a hurl of sparks
dashing toward
their earthly death
Bonney Bombach


Slick  in cleavages
no semblance of civility
this briny substance
staining, stinging
A brief reprieve, the
punching sun vanquished
by cloud
I’ll don turquoise and feathers
intone the gods
zigzag through a rain dance
to subdue this swelter 

  Bonney Bombach

Gold-furred roadside bright
vibrant in the early light.
Later, by the milepost white
I’m cut to see no sign of breath.  
I’m staring at the sleep of death
Bonney Bombach

The cyclone unleashes its fury
stripping, snapping, felling,
yet windfalls spill from ravages.
An open sky unmasks once hidden sea,
air busy with wings-
a scarlet flit,
a dash of white, a flutter of blue
magnets to my gaze.
Currawong, yellow eyes
fixed on me, darts
from balcony rail to forlorn tree
From silence, day by day
voices build as in a fugue-
cockatoos screech, tear
at palm fronds,
coconuts thud to ground
ibis sheers across foreshore,
signals an unseen mate
with a single eerie squawk 
The magpie pair,
broken-winged survivors of
an earlier onslaught,
refuse to be silenced, their
call and response
sweet counterpoint to
nature’s brute force.
the accompanying soundtrack
to this living theatre of flight.
Bonney Bombach


My heart is busy,
thumps in a danse macabre
from throat to belly,
occupies like a disgruntled tenant,
the storm in my body tethered
to the raging wind.
Sheets of iron slap the sky,
glass panes struggle
to break from constraint
like a defiant child.
I’m weak at the knees –
garden broken, heart shaken,
chance’s strange arithmetic flung 
Milton in with the storm-
Paradise Lost, almost.
Bonney Bombach

  Slow pace, fair measure
of gluey air.
Dogs wade to
meet their mirrored selves 
then, side by side in silent
stir a muddied brew
Bonney Bombach


The Hippeastrum bursts ebullient
from hooded sheath
to reward my daily vigilance,
its splendour redolent
as the fiery sun, its
cloak red royal.

In the paddock beyond 
a pair of Curlews has for weeks
kept vigil, one nesting one standing,
three times strangely repositioned.
They’ve moved again today-
their camouflage a challenge to
to the keenest eye- to lie
branch-like, side by side.
What thrill to find one tiny chick beside.

Bonney Bombach

The stars are unsteady tonight,
flick on and off 
like faulty electrics.
Red and white zigzags
above Waikawa Bay
in a game of join-the-dots,
sky so full of random propositions
I can’t trust my eyes.
Little lights from a sloop below
scribble gold, something flashes
in the margin, trickery blurs
edge of hillside, end of inlet.
All night I jump in and out
of my home-stay bed, nose to
cold glass, the better to ponder
this glorious nonsense. 
Bonney Bombach

I tread my coastal garden
devoted as a lover,
note vital signs, plush
drooping, pale or vivid
each tree, each plant
familiar as the pulsing
of my veins.
Clouds tease, refuse to burst.
Steadfast as a faithful wife
I pore over weather maps
hose now grafted to hand.
Garden, weather, a bigamist
wedded to both!
The monsoon trough hurls rain,
overnight a crescendo of green.
I’m high on this windfall,
whirl a word of thanks
to some ancient godhead,
my weather obsession
not quite a malady,
 I’m dizzy on rain!
Bonney Bombach


  Kookaburra probes the night
scattering silence in a gust.
I lurch toward doorway
notebook eager, ears cocked
eyes wide, morning star
like me, startled from sleep.
Early air teases my naked body,
a cricket shrills the dark,
sea and sky meddle beyond trees.
Kookaburra pitches his call
toward dawn.
I muddle and fiddle
scribble some words with
still scratchy eyes.
Too soon for words,
I fall back to bed.
Let the creatures sing-in the day!
Bonney Bombach


Two girls abandon themselves
float downstream on tidal gush
toward a Sunday sea. Unable
to resist, I follow suit.

In thrall to this childlike pleasure
I return next day to indulge unobserved.
Muscles taut, I plough upstream   
ever-deepening water rushing seaward
from salty lagoon, its sandy bed

I’m five years old, shadowing my
‘Claytons brother’ on pitted edge
of a tidal river. A hole sucks me down.
Above, a reaching arm lifts me to
waiting bank. 

Fearless and canny, we conspire to
keep a secret from the grown-ups,
freedom already a precious commodity.

My three-round game begins.
Belly down I play the stream, drift to shallow.
Swirling leaves feather my body. 

Face to sky, Casuarinas sigh toward me,
tide sucks ever stronger. The surging
energy pivots me side-ways. Sandy banks
whispering trees, dark-faced rocks, a
cerulean sky roll by as in a movie.

Final frolic face down. Fingers clench
as hands sink deep, toes dig in, arms
and shoulders strain to resist the force.

On the beach at stream’s edge, current
slowly undercuts bank, tiny cracks widen
millimetre by millimetre under my patient gaze.
In a slow plonking rhythm sand calves off
scalloping the edge as roiling brine races
sand-laden to expectant surf.

Bonney Bombach