Biography of June Walker
My poems are usually based on observation of flora and fauna in my environment. Most have previously been published in poetry magazines in Canada, USA, NZ, Australia and UK. My poetry site is at http: //poemsbyjune.webs.com/ My painting site is at http: //modernartbyjune.webs.com/
June Walker's Works:
'At the vet', children's non-fiction
'Why cats wash after dinner', children's folk tale
June Walker Poems
A row of sergeant-majors stands to attention beside the girders of the glass-house. Wearing wine red busbies above lime green uniform stalks:
In A Victorian Garden
Yarrow, creamy, waist-high, liquorice scent-filled air, sycamore saplings sprouting,
At the edge of close-cropped lawn, purple vetch, daisies, thistles and buttercups grow- a singular patch of wilderness.
Bred in a stubborn land, this hedge of hawthorn grabs frozen soil, with clenched claw roots. Its trunks- thick, twisted, gnarled hide-
This shell has pockmarks and barnacle bumps on its rough elephant hide back, protecting the abalone that once lived there. The roof inside is smooth,
The Pier At Herne Bay
A piece of the pier sits on the horizon, like a lost hope, or a lost ship, a perching place for birds, a marker for fishermen's boats at sea.
Under fir tree puffball crocuses burst into star shapes,
Feeding Garden Birds
With winter attempting to approach- but not quite making it this year- I put out bread, biscuits, and cake for neighbourhood birds:
New Flower Bud
Drooping head of pansy bud, white as first snowdrop, shy as a girl on her first day at school.
The Tenacious Butterfly
A flash of red and black lands on ridged bark, finds an open vein of golden sap. Gathering wasps, hornets, bees, and blowflies,
A song thrush rubs her chest into dry dust. Her beak opens - fledgling begging; her tongue, a sharp thorn. A white film covers her closed eyes.
Mid March. Spring has not yet arrived. Daffodils are a promise, but at least show spindly stalks
Waitomo Caves, Nz
In the grotto, ghostly stalactites and stalagmites, like termite mounds, line the narrow pathway, opening onto an underground cavern
At the top of the road, tall black trees wear crow's nests like untidy Maori headdresses. A passing breeze transforms stiff trees
Mozart's Flute Concerto
His music softly stirs your soul
with piping roll
on whistling flute
that won't lie mute;
but rises up like fountain's spout,
till love trills out
with heady notes
from silken throars
and weaves its spell around and through
the heart of you-
until all calm
lies in your palm.