When I was in Australia I wrote a number of poems. I think that the stimulation of travelling spurs the creative processes, gets the chops moving so to speak.

Fremantle 2018
He warns me that I will burn
easier here than in Europe.
Points to the night sky
and confides there is a hole.
With diplomatic cowardice
I refrain from admitting partial responsibility.
I helped to make it.
Forty years ago I was employed
in the negative alchemy
of turning brine into caustic, hydrogen
and chlorine [the basis of all CFCs],
the side effect of which,
half a world away,
is this hole in the sky.
There are better legacies.

This is autobiographical, you can read another poem about those days here.
The second poem relates again to Australia.

straight out of a horror film
the bird hit the window
it is dead
by the time I get there
eyes blank
as I bury it

the sound of flesh impacting on glass will not leave my head 

Love Forever Changes seems to have a near permanent place on my turntable at the moment, I can’t seem to get enough of it.¬†
Here is The Red Telephone.

And some more Maria Gadu.

Until next time.