Jeff Guess

Half hinged between green and gold         in the grey ice of a mid-June garden         grapevines swarm upon the fences,         bright...

An eagle         above         the golden foil         of fields         carries this         moment         in its clasp. These poems...

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...