An aqua family
lives below copper rocks
that enclose and impose
over a desert valley.
The rainbow dragons fly
twinkling above the still
dancing the whistling breeze
listening to the birds squee and cry,
Rustles in nearby grass
warrants suspicious looks
studying every blade
a city girls anxious task.
But deep in this spiritual home
all can come and all can roam.
Camp chairs resting quietly
Photographers line the landscape
Waiting and anticipating
The gradual descending
Of the yellow ball in the sky
The crickets begin their soundtrack
As the hot sunburnt rock glows
Over the grassy horizon
I saw a turtle
on a side of Uluru
caught in sands of time
red, hot and frozen
under a strong southern sun
surveying the land
a fractured earth wishing rain
would replenish its thirst
Turtle nods ‘palya’ to new friends
that gulp down water
finding solace in rare shade
but showing respect
to him and his ancient rock.
Is it too late for yesterday?
A reel of memories on replay;
The Lions roar turned out the lights
Casting the day into the night
Hiding under the Chelsea Bridge
Haunted by the London Blitz
Smoke stings her weathered grey skin
A mighty war she was breathing in
Fightin’ them for bread and water
A small bereft southern daughter
Blasted out of her rub-a-dub
Just her and her little cub.
What happens when tomorrow comes
Will she be cast back into the slums
collateral damage of this time
where being poor was a crime.
The photos linger in the past
But the stigma will always last
Just a shot of another place
Another time in another space.
7 o clock shadows
thawing from the icy wind
winter is coming.
Thoughts fall to my bashful Blue
as the world spins without you.
Daydreams of Cabrera woods
where long ago we once stood.
You in blue, brown, black and white
Me in navy dress and tights.
Our bench sleeps quietly
nestled within the tall trees
if those ancient oaks could talk
they would tell tales of our walks
trotting around the river
after school until I shivered
then up the hill to our home
where I would read a heavy tome
and you would curl at my feet
enjoying the roaring fires heat.
Brunching in the city park
shopping from dawn until dark
inhaling strong chai lattes
in the labyrinth of laneways.
I’m staggering to recall
memories of us, is this all
random moments here and there
tucked away beneath the stairs.
Pictures of you are calling
through the hallway echoing
I remember, you were there
popping in to show you care.
The seasons have clouded my
memories of you. I want to cry
yearning for the could have been
dwelling on the should have been.
With the storm came the changing
your life was rearranging
contemplating what was next
every conversation hexed
a tired withering flower
yielding to a Spring shower
drowning in abundance of time
poisoned by the cheese and wine.
Tomorrow is the not yet travelled road
an invisible step on the cliff edge
reaching with outstretched arms and a blind fold
hanging tight onto today’s window ledge.
Drowning in the fear of not knowing
but knowing the next step could mean drowning
either way it’s almost suffocating
knowing today could be the ending.
But tomorrow holds possibility
a place where dreams and desires could come true
a blank page of an unwritten story
an adventure awaits for me and you.
So take each moment as time keeps moving
the lesson of life to just keep writing.
Nail you political colours
a wall of activism
selling on the nations streets
plaster across the cityscape
hopeless, pretty hopeless
leaving people behind
imagined inspirations
such grand aspirations
depicts the grim situation
people tweeting red.
Written for Writing 201
Landscape > Found Poetry > Enumeratio
The above picture/text was taken from an article in today’s The Age .
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