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)