The Hunters Moon
I am a hunter seeking my prey
Which remains hidden
In the false green sounds of the forest
I hunt from memory
Which is all I possess
At this late stage of my life
You watch my theatre and as I emerge
Into the low hung mists
You remind me that my seduction is complete
JT 1931
Autumn Evening
The pink and mild blue white clouds
Hid your majesty
As a small child on a dark bicycle
Passed me without a murmur
In time we will both vanish
Without protest
Into your fine mottled night
JT 1931
The Australia Tree
One of my favourite flowering trees is called the Christmas Tree. This tree can grow to heights exceeding twenty feet and improbably belongs to the mistletoe family. The tree requires the roots of another tree or a nearby plant to attach its own roots so that it may be sustained. It displays its brilliant tubular flowers during the Christmas period and this gives the tree its festive name.
I frequently sit in the shade of these trees and write my poetry. It is a world away from my Scottish home but the heathlands of Western Australia can still inspire my words.
JT 1935-36 (Western Australia)
Wildflowers of the West
Sweet maiden please do guess at my misfortune
For as I sit here
In the devils furnace thinking of you
The temptations of his lands
Inspire my forgetfulness
JT 1935-36 (Western Australia)
Late Rembrandt
Stranger, do not seek my person
Just look at my many portraits
For they are the only truth
As only lies exist elsewhere
JT 1959 (Hull)