Jeff Guess

A red-rump parrot         from its sharp vantage         on the iron fence         is stripping quinces         and the yellow ripeness...

A quince tree-         into its dark pruned vase of sticks         the parcel of sun.         Leaves         to paper-folded perfection...

Pitching hay from the swung rhythm of his strong back and hips he forks the rain-dulled stack of last season's gathered grass and for a...

The road to leafless poplars         runs through         a mid-winter afternoon         to where a yellow tractor         paints a green...

The lantana in the south garden         is older than the house         its roots burrow in cool orange clay         its leaves and stems...

The stubble fields         are a pen and wash in early morning light.         Distant wild bamboo crosshatch pale sun         sown with...

This sport's field Sunday morning         with the rasping antiphon         of a choir of galahs.         Sun sits just below the...

Pruning of the vines         and at this road distance         so many small humped         clouds of control amongst the snarl of canes...

Hundreds         of tiny trumpets         from the clumps         of clivia         along the driveway         and the slow        ...

Sunday morning-         moving in and out of sleep,         somewhere close on         an ivy-covered wall.         Rain falls on the...