769 - Our Country

Three Word Wednesday requires participants

to use the three words of the week in a composition.

The words this week were: fiery, notorious and toxic.

Our Country

There’s the fear of snakes and spiders,

And all the nasty things,

Like Portuguese ‘Men of War’,

With their paralyzing stings.

And the fear of red-back spiders

Beneath the toilet seat

They make ablutions a fraught affair—

To dump and then retreat.

I shun the toxic mushrooms

And the notorious Great White shark,

Or the crocodiles that can be found

Within our national parks.

I dread to meet with bull-ants,

Or the wasps, whose sting is rotten,

And Sea Urchins who sound so sweet,

But once met are not forgotten.

There's drab and oil-filled eucalypts

All crispy in the sun,

Waiting for that wayward spark

To let the firestorm run.

But for all the noxious wildlife,

And the fiery dispositions,

The things that scare me most of all

Are our right-wing politicians.

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© J Cosmo Newbery 2014

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768 - Old Flames

Old Flames

Where do flames go, after they die?

They, who glowed to brightened our day,

Just disappear with scant ‘good-bye’—

Where do they go when they go away?

Is there a divide they must traverse?

Lingering briefly as a wisp of white

To swirl and twist and then disperse,

Like ghosts that slip into the night.

Where do flames go when they go out?

They were so real, with warmth and grace,

It’s hard to think they are not about,

They must live on in some other place.

But our Heaven wont suit them well—

Perhaps old flames just collect in Hell.

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© J Cosmo Newbery 2014

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767 - The Outlook

Sunday Whirl (Wordle #185) presents a list of words

that we must incorporate in a writing piece.  

The words this week are:

standing, satisfied, burn, jaded, spark, rain

way, sun, cold, grey, joy, slash

The Outlook

The boards

Of the old verandah,

The one his father built,

Are loose and curled.

He has been standing there

For some time,

Watching,

Watching the land,

Watching the sky,

Watching in a way

That only farmers do.

Some days are cold and grey

But the rains don’t fall

Others break records,

Either way

Both break hearts.

There is no joy

There is nothing 

To spark hope

For the next season.

The rains of yesteryear

No longer come.

He stands there,

Watching,

His dams are drying,

His flock are dying.

What light rains fall

Do more harm than good—

Sprouting seeds

Only to see 

The next day’s sun 

Burn them,

Turn them in to crisp,

Parodies of grass.

With nothing to hold them,

The soils blow away

In rolling,

Tumbling,

Dust clouds.

His family

Built this farm

They ploughed,

They slashed,

They tended to sheep,

And sunk posts 

Into rocky soil.

They cared for what they had.

Now, jaded, despairing,

He stands on the verandah

In the shade,

Watching,

As it all cracks

And dries,

And blows away.

Meanwhile,

Miles away,

In air-conditioned offices,

Coalminers

Are satisfied


With this year’s profits
And the short term outlook.

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© J Cosmo Newbery 2014

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