Moon tonight,
Beloved . . .
When twilight
Has gathered together
The ends
Of her soft robe
And the last bird-call
Has died.
Moon tonight—
Cool as a forgotten dream,
Dearer than lost twilights
Among trees where birds sing
No more.
Gwendolyn Bennett (1902-1981) was an American artist, writer, and journalist.
To read more poems, click here.
Photo by Evangelina Silina on Unsplash
1
There is a large crowd of young folks
Hurrying down the road;
They are going to have a picnic now,
And spread the news abroad.
2
They are wearing beautiful bouquets,
And carrying bright tin dippers;
New straw hats are waiving high,
And patent leather slippers.
3
Their hats are made of fine chiffon,
And decorated too.
There will be plenty of goodies
For your friends and for you.
4
They will have a big barbecue.
And a lot of other stuff.
They are going to eat and drink
Till everybody puff.
5
They will have cakes and candy by the heaps,
And ice cream pressed in cake;
Peanuts parched fresh and hot,
And a lot of fine milk shakes.
6
They will have fish croquets by the bushels,
And cocoanut jumbles too;
They are going to feed their friends and foes
And have enough for you.
7
They are going to have a big dance
And have a jolly time.
They want to show their handsome looks
Because they look so fine.
8
One barrel or two of lemonade,
Mixed all through with ice;
Lemons cut and thrown therein
Gee! it’s awful nice.
9
Of all the fun and jolities,
And all the places of rest,
Just go to an old picnic ground;
They tell me that’s the best.
Julius C. Wright was an American poet.
To read more poems, click here.
When you and your mate have a disagreement and need to settle it like true Aussies 🇦🇺🥊😂. I always wanted to photograph boxing kangaroos, and one February evening, I was finally lucky enough to find a pair of joeys sparring playfully while the sun was going down. (And the light disappeared quickly; I had to bump up the ISO to 12.800 to freeze the action in low light).
Another joey, grooming itself, same magical evening. So cute!
White-faced heron (Egretta novaehollandiae) photographed at the wildlife sanctuary created by Ecopia Retreat on Kangaroo Island, South Australia.
A wild bottlenose dolphin emerges from the sea to breathe, expelling stale air through the blowhole on top of its head before inhaling fresh air.
This is the first time I’ve photographed dolphins, and it took me a while to figure out the best way to do it. Unfortunately, they disappeared before I could perfect my newfound technique. Nevertheless, I’m grateful for this fantastic experience!
Photographed off the North Coast of Kangaroo Island, South Australia.
I was fortunate enough to come across this rare eastern osprey (Pandion haliaetus cristatus), also known as the fish hawk, on Hanson Bay beach in Kangaroo Island (South Australia) in February 2024.
Unfortunately, they are a rare sight nowadays. They are listed as vulnerable in South Australia, and only 50 breeding pairs are estimated to be left in the region.
Sadly, human activities such as coastal development and competition for food with fishing production negatively impact their nesting sites and breeding.
I hope you enjoyed these photos; there are more to come next month.
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Photo by Muzammil Soorma on Unsplash
The sun is near set
And the tall buildings
Become teeth
Tearing bloodily at the sky’s throat;
The blank wall by my window
Becomes night sky over the marches
When there is no moon, and no wind,
And little fishes splash in the pools.
I had lit my candle to make a song for you,
But I have forgotten it for I am very tired;
And the candle … a yellow moth …
Flutters, flutters,
Deep in my brain.
My song was about, ‘a foreign lady
Who was beautiful and sad,
Who was forsaken, and who died
A thousand years ago.’
But the cracked cup at my elbow,
With dregs of tea in it,
Fixes my tired thought more surely
Than the song I made for you and forgot …
That I might give you this.
I am tired.
I am so tired
That my soul is a great plain
Made desolate,
And the beating of a million hearts
Is but the whisper of night winds
Blowing across it.
Skipwith Cannell (1887–1957) was an American poet.
To read more poems, click here.
Photo by Jeremy Alford on Unsplash
The cactus in the desert stands
Like time’s inviolate sentinel,
Watching the sun-washed waste of sands
Lest they their ancient secrets tell.
And the lost lore of mournful lands
It knows alone and guards too well.
Wiser than Sphynx or pyramid,
It points a stark hand at the sky,
And all the stars alight or hid
It counts as they go rolling by;
And mysteries the gods forbid
Darken its heavy memory.
I asked how old the world was—yea,
And why yon ruddy mountain grew
Out of hell’s fire. By night nor day
It answered not, though all it knew,
But lifted, as it stopped my way,
Its wrinkled fingers toward the blue
Inscrutable and stern and still
It waits the everlasting doom.
Races and years may do their will—
Lo, it will rise above their tomb,
Till the drugged earth has drunk her fill
Of light, and falls asleep in gloom.
Harriet Monroe (1860–1936) was an American poet, critic, and editor. She is best known as the founding publisher and editor of Poetry magazine.
To read more poems, click here.
I’m thrilled to announce that my photo of this adorable Kangaroo Island kangaroo and her joey was a finalist in the 2023 Pangolin Wildlife Photography Challenge‘s “Animal Behaviour” category.
I captured this photo while on a trip to Kangaroo Island, a beautiful and unique place in South Australia. It is my absolute favorite photo of the year, and it’s an honor to have it recognized among so many beautiful entries.
Watching the mother take care of her little one was amazing; they had such a special bond! Witnessing moments like these is what makes wildlife photography so special to me.
The kangaroos in the photo are Kangaroo Island kangaroos, a subspecies of the Western Grey Kangaroo (Macropus fuliginosus). Because of their long period of isolation from mainland Australia, the KI kangaroos are pretty different from the Western Grey kangaroos. They’re shorter, darker, and much cuter if you ask me!
This was my first time entering a photo contest, and I’m thrilled to have made it among the finalists. So many talented photographers and beautiful photos were submitted, and I’m honored to be included among them. Thanks to everyone who supported me!
I hope this photo helps remind people of how important it is to protect and preserve our wildlife and helps to raise awareness and appreciation for these amazing animals. Every animal has a unique story and deserves to be appreciated and respected.
Here are all the finalists; my photo is at 5:31 minutes in the video. And on the video cover 😉.
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I must go down to the seas again, to the
lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer
her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and
the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey
dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call
of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be
denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white
clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and
the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the
vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where
the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing
fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the
long trick’s over.
John Masefield (1878–1967) was an English poet and children’s fiction writer.
To read more poems, click here.
Two young Kangaroo Island kangaroos (Macropus fuliginosus fuliginosus) practicing their boxing skills.
Wait, what? Kangaroos? Does it mean that I’ve been to Australia again?
Indeed I was, and too short a time it was! Three weeks on Kangaroo Island flew by in the blink of an eye, and now I’m back home, sorting through thousands of photos. I’ve just started, so it’ll take some time until I’m done and can begin processing the best photos.
I love this photo because it was the first time I’d seen boxing kangaroos, and managed to take a few pictures in that golden light.
We were on our way to Seal Bay for a 7am appointment with the research team when we came across these sheep grazing peacefully as the sun rose. Everything was bathed in gold; it was breathtaking.
Unfortunately, we were in a hurry and couldn’t afford to stop for too long. I literally jumped out of the car and quickly took a few photos, hoping some would be good enough 😅.
This may not be a masterpiece, but I love it. It has so many things I love: the golden light, the kangaroos, the grass tree to the left, and the flowering eucalyptus to the right.
The composition could be better, and I did move around a lot, trying to get a better angle, but the roos were skittish, and this is the best I could do.
I hope you enjoyed these photos; there are more to come next month.
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Photo by Kyle Nieber on Unsplash.
Hard by the lilied Nile I saw
A duskish river-dragon stretched along,
The brown habergeon of his limbs enamelled
With sanguine almandines and rainy pearl:
And on his back there lay a young one sleeping,
No bigger than a mouse; with eyes like beads,
And a small fragment of its speckled egg
Remaining on its harmless, pulpy snout;
A thing to laugh at, as it gaped to catch
The baulking merry flies. In the iron jaws
Of the great devil-beast, like a pale soul
Fluttering in rocky hell, lightsomely flew
A snowy trochilus, with roseate beak
Tearing the hairy leeches from his throat.
Thomas Lovell Beddoes (1803 – 1849) was an English poet, playwright and doctor.
Mark McGuinness reads and discusses the poem in his podcast A Mouthful of Air, a podcast of classic and contemporary poetry. Podcast transcription is available.
To read more poems, click here.
Snowdon From Pernsarn by Charles Thomas Burt. Photo by Birmingham Museums Trust on Unsplash.
The Heaven doth not contain so many stars,
So many leaves not prostrate lie in woods
When autumn’s old and Boreas sounds his wars,
So many waves have not the ocean floods,
As my rent mind hath torments all the night,
And heart spends sighs when Phœbus brings the light.
Why should I have been partner of the light,
Who, crost in birth by bad aspéct of stars,
Have never since had happy day or night?
Why was not I a liver in the woods,
Or citizen of Thetis’s crystal floods,
Than made a man, for love and fortune’s wars?
I look each day when death should end the wars,
Uncivil wars, ’twixt sense and reason’s light;
My pains I count to mountains, meads, and floods,
And of my sorrow partners make the stars;
All desolate I haunt the fearful woods,
When I should give myself to rest at night.
With watchful eyes I ne’er behold the night,
Mother of peace, but ah! to me of wars,
And Cynthia, queen-like, shining through the woods,
When straight those lamps come in my thought, whose light
My judgment dazzled, passing brightest stars,
And then mine eyes en-isle themselves with floods.
Turn to their springs again first shall the floods,
Clear shall the sun the sad and gloomy night,
To dance about the pole cease shall the stars,
The elements renew their ancient wars
Shall first, and be deprived of place and light,
E’er I find rest in city, fields, or woods.
End these my days, indwellers of the woods,
Take this my life, ye deep and raging floods;
Sun, never rise to clear me with thy light,
Horror and darkness, keep a lasting night;
Consume me, care, with thy intestine wars,
And stay your influence o’er me, bright stars!
In vain the stars, indwellers of the woods,
Care, horror, wars, I call, and raging floods,
For all have sworn no night shall dim my sight.
William Drummond of Hawthornden (1585 –1649) was a Scottish poet.
Mark McGuinness reads and discusses the poem in his podcast A Mouthful of Air, a podcast of classic and contemporary poetry. Podcast transcription is available.
To read more poems, click here.
