Drought & Flood

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Bush Poetry, drought, Flood, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Drought

The paddocks bake to brown in summer heat.
The river shrinks to holes where lungfish dwell.
The grass remaining cracks beneath one’s feet.
The water level drops deep in the well,
And everywhere is death, and death the smell,
For scattered on the ground the rotting dead.
A blasted vision of an earthly hell,
Where walk the living with their limbs like lead,
Beneath a sky bloodshot at dusk with red.
The wind stirs dust; the tree limbs crack and fall.
The ants and maggots thrive – they are well-fed.
A crow upon a carcass sounds its call.
The land is dying – drying is its blood;
Its thirst will not be quenched – until the flood.

Flood

The land has languished in the drought’s foul grip,
But now the clouds roll in and soon the rain
Falls lightly, and the downpipes start to drip.
Then steadier, like an approaching train
it’s heavier, that welcome sweet refrain
As gutters gurgle and tanks overflow,
And raindrops drum against the window pane.
The rain turns to torrential – warm winds blow.
The fresh creeps higher in the stream below.
The river’s banks are broken, comes the flood.
Across the flats the surging waters flow
To wash away drought’s sacrificial blood.
The gods appeased – the cycle is complete.
Now throbs the land once more to its slow beat.

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Whirlpools

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Australian poet, Black Holes, Galaxies, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, Whirlpool

Whirlpool

The suns and the planets they roll,
As all matter is sucked to the goal.
And to black fades the light,
As it loses the fight
With the galaxy’s massive black hole.

Whirlpool 2

I once spied a paddling of ducks
Rotating upon a conflux.
I called out to them: “Fly!
Escape now or you’ll die!”
They said: “Try as we might, this thing sucks.”

Vostok Ice Cores

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, climate change, Formal poetry, Global Warming Theory, Ice Ages, Past Ice Ages, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Vostok ice cores

How can they read these cores yet not conclude
That ice, not fire, is what we all should fear?
How could these facts be otherwise construed?
The current warming of the atmosphere;
The C02 increase – it’s crystal clear!
They correspond with readings from the past,
And correlate to show a peak is near.
The present warming trend, it will not last,
For Armageddon is approaching fast.
It may be only decades down the road
When all the world will face a freezing blast;
Another chilling Ice Age episode.
It’s Climate Change, but not what they expect;
By glaciers their theory will be wrecked.

Temperature, C02, Methane

The Mountain Ash

Tags

Australian bush poetry, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Eucalyptus regnans, mountain ash, poem, poetry, Tasmania

Reaching for the skies,
Unfeeling, deaf, and blind.
Knowing not of life or care
Or that it is, or when or why it dies,
While those around it, of its kind,
The same indifference wear.

No greater living thing
And yet none less concerned.
Just there for others to admire;
Those on the earth and wing.
To stand until it’s burned
To ash, uncaring, in a forest fire.

The mountain ash (Eucalyptus regnans) is the tallest flowering plant
in the world reaching heights of 330 feet or more.
It is second only to the redwood as the tallest tree

Noosa Forest on a Wet Afternoon

Tags

Australian poet, Latrodectus hasseltii, Noosa Heads, Noosa Private Hospital, Noosa Queensland, poem, poetry, Redback spider, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Widow spiders

{During a short stay at Noosa Hospital}

On fallen leaves the falling raindrops splash.
The undergrowth is green, it glistens wet.
The ocean’s waves, I hear their muffled crash
On distant rocks and beach. A spider’s net
Shines like a silver brooch with diamonds set –
A beaded web where insects fear to tread.
Reclining at its centre, black as jet,
Except for that alluring flash of red
Upon her back – the spider in her bed;
While round her glint the hollowed husks of prey.
The rain keeps falling from a sky of lead.
On high the lorikeets on branches play.
I head back to my room – it’s getting late.
The redback beckons to her tiny mate.

Rainbow

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Hijacked rainbow, poem, poetry, rainbow poem

I remember fondly, as a child I’d seek the rainbow’s end.
I’d brave the showers that brought it, and I’d follow its bright bend,
For I had heard the tales – the wondrous stories that were told
Of how this bow of colours ended in a pot of gold.

But now it’s said, its meaning’s changed; no longer it’s a sign
(Though seven hues not rearranged; its arcing form as fine.)
Of treasure everlasting; of the promise and the power
Of the One whose light via raindrops makes a multicoloured bower.

Grand Canyon

Tags

Australian traditional poetry, Grand Canyon, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

It’s erosion upon a grand scale.
Were it man’s doing, how they would wail
Of such wanton destruction;
Heed Nature’s instruction –
Beside her great sculptures ours pale.

Scrub Turkeys

Tags

Australian bush poetry, Australian traditional poetry, Bush Poetry, Megapode, Mound builder, poem, poetry, Scrub Turkey

Of all bush structures, none can best
The grandeur of the turkey’s nest –
A mighty tower of twigs and leaves,
With claw and beak, each turkey weaves;
An oven, where the cock’s strong feet,
About the eggs, adjust the heat,
Until the chicks with chirp and cheep
Burst skywards from the rotting heap.

Ash

Tags

Australian bush poetry, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Hervey bay, Moreton Bay Ash, poem, poetry

I spied a grand old ash,
Close by the shore, where crash
The waves on shining sand.
I asked it: “Here you stand,
And have for many years.
What laughter and what tears
Can you recall, old tree?
Your secrets tell to me.”

Sprang up a brisk sea-breeze
To rustle its grey leaves;
Its branches swayed and groaned,
And then to me it moaned:
“So long ago I saw
Upon this shining shore,
The campfires in the night,
And by their flickering light,
The dance of painted men;
I was a sapling then;
Now fully grown am I;
My trunk is thick, and high
And mighty do I stand,
But on the shining sand
I see no signs of men –
The ones I knew back then.
Their fires have long gone cold –
To ash – and I am old.”

Then quiet – the sea-breeze died,
And soft the giant sighed;
The waves crashed on the shore;
The old ash said no more.

This May Take a While

Tags

Age of the Earth, australian formal poetry, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Creation, Creation theory, evolution, Man's time on Earth, poem, poetry, Theory of Evolution

Four billion years the Earth has been around?
For almost all that time no sight or sound
Of man? – No creature walked upon the ground
Who could appreciate this Eden found?
No thinker that its wonders could astound?
With patience all creators must abound.