And the people went into their hide, they oh From the start they didn’t know exactly why, why Winter came and made it so all look alike, look alike Underneath the grass would grow, aiming at the sky
It was swift, it was just, another wave of a miracle But no one, nothing at all would go for the kill If they called on every soul in the land, on the moon Only then would they know a blessing in disguise
The curse ruled from the underground down by the shore And their hope grew with a hunger to live unlike before The curse ruled from the underground down by the shore And their hope grew with a hunger to live unlike before
Tell me now of the very souls that look alike, look alike Do you know the stranglehold covering their eyes? If I call on every soul in the land, on the moon Tell me if I’ll ever know a blessing in disguise
The curse ruled from the underground down by the shore And their hope grew with a hunger to live unlike before And the curse ruled from the underground down by the shore And their hope grew with a hunger to live unlike before
In response to The Weekly Photo Prompt : Red << Click
My little red sparrow’s eating salad tonight
Topped with fresh red cherry tomatoes
We’re dining at Noah’s wooden window sill
Dangling our legs over the edge
Into unknown red-mud waters
Tossing chewed-up bones to Judas
My sparrow’s now chirpy and cheeky
Retelling Judas the story, what if this is, as good as it gets
The little red sparrow’s wing is slowly healing
Resting under the shady red-gum tree.
Reg Gum. The Last Frontier. Lyrics.
There’s a corrugated highway Leading north from Port Augusta
Lined with ratted cars that didn’t rate a tow
The Salt plains out of Pimba And your eyes begin to stream
On to Kingoonya huddled dusty by the road
Romantic notions shattered Like the tyres that didn’t hack it
This has got to be the country’s last frontier
Where a sports car’s next to useless Running cattle grids and river beds
We drove a van from 1963
Someone mentioned walkabout And kiss your job goodbye
Just to see the country shimmer through the windscreen
Drinking beer, telling stories While laughter filled the night
And flexi-time’s behind you like a bad dream
You got a flat on ANZAC Highway And Lawson on your shelf
Its a Southern Comfort, air-conditioned rage
Where a homestead’s more than just a cheap print Dangling from a wall
And mateship’s more than lines upon a page
We went looking for Australia In between the TV lines
‘Cause the ABC just couldn’t make it real
Colour documentary From a beanbag on the floor:
Never shows as much as it conceals
A stark and blistered Alice Springs And a river runs with shame
And you wipe the sheets of bulldust from your eyes
Another country’s uniform And the mirage it falls apart
To the open gap between the truth and lies
I didn’t realise I had written so many of these sort of “life as a carer” poems, these were written years ago, when I was struggling with the process of coping…… Please do not over react, many years have gone by, I’m Ok these days. Hopefully my words may help other carers that maybe in a similar situation, and realise that they are not alone out there, with their thought and doubts
The day here is very hot again, hot enough to fry an egg on my front window sill, 107’F, at midday !! I found this poem that I posted last year on February 25th, it must’ve been hot back then too. I hope you enjoy the re-run.
Gradually the dying moonlight awakened my dawn
And the baptizing sunrise watered my eyes
Drowning the working hours of my shallow day
Dampening fiery thoughts of playing in the hay
Dusk hazily shrouds my cemetery lawn
And the rituals of sunset beckon my evening plight