Friends In My Garden – Bizzie Lizzie

I’m sure you all have at least one character like this in your friendship garden.

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Such a Bizzie Lizzie

is pretty little balsam

dashing about

always wanting to please.

Wearing happy colours

she brightens dreary corners.

There are times when she’ll work too hard

then suddenly stop

fall in a heap

her petals drop

her leaves turn crinkly brown and flop.

She’ll revive

but for a while her blossoms wilt

turning white and wan.

She hates that

wants to be out in the sun

having fun

flashing her prettiest party petals

and being busy

my Bizzie Lizzie.

Friends In My Garden – A Tree of Grace

This poem was written for my daughter, Stephanie, who demonstrated such courage and determination after the loss of her baby and her husband in a car crash in 1990. It still makes me cry but I hope it shows how much I love and admire her.

It has been shared with many readers who lost loved ones. Please feel free to pass it on

A Tree of Grace

In my garden grows a tree

with silver leaves and flowers

of magical hue.

On her trunk

a trace of scars

tempest caused

the year her buds fell unformed

and she shivered

branches bare.

But rainbow nourished

laughter bathed

wrapped in courage

love healed by spring.

Strong she stands

a shimmering shining tree full of grace

and beauty

sparkling my garden with silver

and golding my heart.

Friends In My Garden – Chirpy Chatty Charmer

A bright little bird
perches on my shoulder
lands in my lap
or sits on the bench beside me.
Rarely still
he bobs and darts and scurries
from tree to fence
from path to bench to me.
Whistling and chirping and singing away
He’ll talk to himself
if there’s no-one around
to share his conversations.
He loves to tell stories
and make up jokes
that aren’t always clever
but he’s so amusing
I have to laugh.

Friends In My Garden – Friendship


Friends In My Garden is the name of my first book, a collection of poems about people in my life depicted as birds, flowers, trees and other things that you find in a garden. Many of you have copies, but for those who don’t and who have asked to see my poems, here is the first of forty that I will post over the coming weeks. Please keep watching and please share them with your friends.

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Friendly flowers in my garden


Friendship is like a garden.
I throw seeds around and wait.
Sometimes a special flower appears
not flamboyant not pushy
quietly, softly it opens petals,
its beauty and gentleness
give joy to my soul.
For a while it disappears
as flowers do,


Each year I wait for my tulips to appear.

Each year I wait for my tulips to appear.

in its absence I feel a loss
but as time approaches for its return
I look for it every day
and rejoice in its welcome back.
You are like that flower
my friend.

A Successful Week in Local Libraries

At the Mundaring Library

At the Mundaring Library

The Green Velvet Dress  presented at two libraries in one week. A bit daunting, but I’m getting into the swing and starting to enjoy myself.

For evening events the libraries have provided a glass of wine and some delicious nibbles, which helps me to relax  and puts the audience in a receptive mood.

About fifteen people attended the Mundaring presentation on Thursday the 1st October. I noticed heads nodding in agreement when I talked about teaching in 1961 and again in response to my comments about society’s rules for women at the time.

I had lots of questions to answer at the end and most people bought books, which made me very happy. I look forward to reading their reviews.



Continue reading

Spinifex and Snakes

Gone before the heat each day

the partner I had followed to this land of Spinifex and snakes

leaving me alone

My daughter painted this picture from her memories of our life in north-west WA

My daughter, Stephanie Burns, painted this picture from her memories of our life in north-west WA. To see more of her art and fabrics go to

with my babies

aged one and three.

No friends

the town not yet reality

no shop, no school

an alcoholic doctor

the airport down the track—an hour’s drive.

I had no car but where could I go

even if that wasn’t so?

To shark infested waters, holding two little hands?

Across a wasteland of bushes uniformly stunted?

To the caravan park

where filth, depression

and language hurled at children made me shrink.


Word from the south was flown up

with grader parts and other vital stuff.

Food and clothes came fortnightly by truck.

Radio was rarely heard

television never seen

no books

no strains of Mozart

no scent of flowers, twitter of birds

trees or shade or anything to feed the soul.

In that pindan-covered camp

no-one felt or thought like me.


Afraid of losing little ones

curious to explore that never ending sameness

each day confined within my arms-width space

sheltering from flies and sun that fried the brain

I lived inside my head.




Victoria Mizen