Marilyn Peck: ‘Noctivagous Samantha’, ‘The Exhibition of Ceramic Eggs’, ‘A Skerrick’ and ‘Let loose the secrets to their whereabouts’

Noctivagous Samantha

Wandering in the night, stark naked
She did and was completely unaware
That she did this so delightfully asleep.
She would visit all her rooms unclothed.
And would challenge no one. Unopposed,
She gallivanted with a long-stemmed red
Rose held like a wand, to ward off all
Evil while she danced asleep. No one
Would interrupt her or be abrupt or
Mean enough to challenge her. But,
Was she really asleep? Her eyes were
Unfocussed if she saw you in her

Rooms. If you said a word, she’d not
Hear you. She was noctivagous.
Her name was Samantha, and our lot
Had a party with her every year. The
Only time we saw her fully clothed.
She had one dress, and like her we
Wore the same each year, fully clothed.
Her birthday invitation came each year.
We’d bring a long-stemmed red rose.
Marilyn Peck

Let loose the secrets to their whereabouts

Cattle, warmed by sun, change mood with morning hours to move for greener pasture. Moisture-laden air becomes dew to nourish red soil surrounding river trees. Calmly fording the river, their stone pavements are rolling beneath hock-deep water. They transit shallows from their secure bedroom. They traverse steep hoof-holed banks, to lunch-time. Moving, always hoarding their rotational, territorial, food-cropping tracks, they choose by evening to be on high ground, quietly herding together outside our bedroom window where they feel safe.
moon-spooked shadows
cattle retreat to hide in mist
night-dingoes range river

Marilyn Peck

A Skerrick

a skerrick of this
or that was enough to
subsist without fat
during the duration
of rationing with coupons
in that second world war
we ate tripe with onions
the occasional stuffed chook
kidneys and crumbed brains
some of the mixtures
put into bread sandwiches
became fixtures.

Marilyn Peck

The Exhibition of Ceramic Eggs

The initial impact of the large ceramic eggs amused,
hitting the eyes, at the opening of her Easter exhibition.
She was obviously besotted with her fertile roosters.
She had painted them in rampant profusion,
willow-patterned, blue on white and glazed.
Then, catching attention, the large canvases
gracing the walls, held fowls in various stages
of dress and undress, cooked and uncooked,
plump-bosomed but plucked, on plates and off.
They all had the quality of Proper Art, holding you
in aesthetic arrest until you had to race off to ensure
that you would own the most erotic egg for yourself.
She had painted my egg showing a rooster of renown
strangely standing astride the back of an Indian elephant,
cock of all he surveyed, guarding his flock, his world;
so proud of it. You could almost remember the time
when he may have lived as a neighbour and you would
hear his early morning call to dominance and love.
When we repositioned to our present retirement abode,
he came too but had an adventure on his own. He
travelled around in the back of the furniture van alone,
wrapped in a rug, forgotten. When he was rediscovered,
the removalist knew where he should be. Uncovered.
In our new home.

Marilyn Peck