Friday, November 21, 2014

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.
© J Cosmo Newbery 2014

Sunday, November 16, 2014

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.
© J Cosmo Newbery 2014

Sunday, November 02, 2014

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 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,
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,
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,
As it all cracks
And dries,
And blows away.

Miles away,
In air-conditioned offices,
Are satisfied

With this year’s profits
And the short term outlook.
© J Cosmo Newbery 2014