Poetry

Why Not Stop and Stare – date:a long time ago I wrote this poem

We’re going down the highway, and we’re almost back home,

The sun is at its highest and it glistens on the dome.

We’re skidding round the corner and rolling down the straight,

And avoiding all the road-hogs, full of rage and hate.

We’re gliding past some road-kill, down along the track,

And until we’ve gone right by, I won’t look back.

For they did no wrong, and only died by chance,

And we rush right by them, with no second glance.

Galahs fly overhead, with no second thoughts,

As we speed in plastic bubbles, for they think us funny sorts.

As we drive along the highway, not stopping on the way,

With our artificial air, we could drive like this all day!

No time to turn down creek beds, as the willows nod and sway,

No time to stop at all and we simply cannot stay.

No time to watch the kangaroo, with a joey in her pouch,

No time to wait for native birds, who come if you silently crouch.

No time to lay on golden grass and stare up at the sun,

Speeding past in plastic bubbles, you miss a lot of fun.

No time to crush a gum leaf, and smell the gum-fresh air,

As we fly on by, going as fast as we possibly dare.

As we swoop on down the highway, for we’re very nearly home,

And the afternoon sun, glistens on the highway’s dome.

We’re speeding round the corner and flashing down the straight,

For we simply cannot stop, and we simply cannot wait.

And I stopped and watched the plastic cars, rushing till the end,

Swooping out of sight, under a gum tree, round a bend.

And I sighed behind them, why not stop beside the track,

And turn down a creek bed and don’t worry to go back?

Lie down in the shade in the golden grass that’s fair,

And learn to stop and stand and stare.

And take a gum leaf from a gum and crush it in your hand,

And learn to really see what is good and grand.

Why not stay till night fall, and watch the ghost gums dance,

And wander past the creek bed and take the track by chance.

For the earth is much too wonderful, not to stop and stare,

And gaze upon a joey’s face, and dance without a care.

 

-zu

This was such a long time ago. I actually wrote this while I was driving, on the way home on the highway with my family. As I was driving, I couldn’t exactly write, so I memorized the whole thing somehow and wrote it down when we got home. I believe we were very close to home at the time otherwise this would have been lost into oblivion for all time.

Advertisements
Poetry

dVerse Quadrille #37: What Leads to Fear – 2/8/17

Running that’s the truth
And tipping, tripping, lie, or tie me down
Too late
Unexpectedly at the sheer drop
Arms windmilling
Against the fearful drop
And back I tip
Running again
Whipping though lovely foliage
In dancing copperplated heels
Down amongst the laughing trees.

 

-zu

Following the prompt at dVerse – Quadrille #37–Be Not Afraid.

Please let me know what you think, constructive criticism is always welcome!

 

Poetry

Blue – 20/7/17

Be all the blue you don’t want to see in the sky

That bitter note of sunshine rules the skies

Blow up the water tank the roos don’t mind the bangs

Leave the pieces laying on the dust

Silky dust wanting water and somehow I don’t care

Under the verandah the clouds are gathering

Could this be the end of all we’re hearing now

Or is this the only thing keeping us sane.

All I see of me is my shadow on the wall,

Walking down the hall thudding on worn carpet again.

-zu

Everything I write comes back to the word drought. It’s not the worst word once you get to know it. 

Poetry

A Ludicrous Limerick, and High-flown reflections while sitting on a water tank, Part I. – 18/3/17

I see the galah in the tree,
The same time he sees me.
We are both perched high,
But I cannot fly,
So he is the first one to flee.
-zu
Actually he didn’t flee, so I kept writing. 
He was just a baby,
And didn’t know humans are dangerous.
He tilted his head,
And determined me as
No threat.
Focused on more important things,
Like feathers that the wind sets
Askew.
And a wind that could toss him out of,
A tree full of shivers and sunshine.
-also zu
Poetry, Uncategorized

They came from Cockatoo! A poem.

They lived in the Dandenong Ranges, where the maddest people go,
Along the ridge of the mountains, where the fearsome rivers flow.
I don’t know how they got here, but they would stop and have a chat,
They’d never settle down though, they’d never hang their hat.
We couldn’t do without them, I hate to even try,
I cannot stop the misting eyes, now we have to say goodbye.
They hitched up their yellow caravan, it had but room for two,
But before they disappeared for good, we heard, “We’ll see you in Cockatoo!”

-zu

Our Earth, Poetic Prose, Prose

Hello again!

It’s been a month! So hello! 

Here in Australia it’s getting on towards summer again, my favourite season! And I found this little description I wrote a year or so ago and thought it fitting to share. 😊

ALSO for anyone who read my story of the spread of Paterson’s Curse in Australia you will be either annoyed or happy to know that there is even more of it this year! It may be a pest but paddocks full of purple flowers are still beautiful 😆

 

Summer creeps up slowly. First the winter days seem more mellow, the wind blows less harshly, the sun blesses the land more often.

Then warmth drifts in for a day or two here and there, the trees and plants eagerly bud and bloom, hasty to catch summer. But it’s much too soon for them, the cold and the warmth proceed to play a game of catch-me-if-you-can, here now, caught again, chased back, peeking round that tree.

You can almost hear summer laughing as the merry pair run and chase each other. The paddocks start to turn bright yellow and deep green, rain falls overnight, flowers float out of the air, coming to rest in the welcoming soil, birds build nests, start families and carol unceasingly.

Then one day you turn around and the yellow paddocks have faded, the chase stops and warmth is the new crowned king. He has conquered the cold and now settles in for a long and peaceful summer.

The trees settle their roots in the warming soil, their happy leaves sheltering noisy cicadas and birds flying to and fro, busy feeding their babies. The air is rich in tiny insects. The warmth reaches clear to the bone. Every house has a sprinkler for the kids to play in.

This happy state continues until winter’s cold grows strong in its long exile and comes again to contest summer’s king.

But that, is another story.

-zu

In other news I’m currently reading Go Set a Watchman, the sort of sequel of To Kill a Mocking Bird that has sparked outrage in some parties and mixed feelings in others. Have you read it? What are your opinions of it?