Monday, January 5

Old bush track

I hear the crunch of fine gravel underfoot
Fine dust baked along a rivers bush track
Shaded curtains of yellow tree spray
Reflected in eddies and fast currents display

In the noonday stillness, hear the bush rhyme
Resounding chords of the lost dreaming time
When the sky was black and rains never stopped
Until they washed away that old bush track

Hunters and gatherers remembered the flood
No longer have camps by the rivers in the scrub
Those tribes danced to the tune of a hunt
No longer, no more, spear and club now defunct
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Sarah J Clark said...

Makes me want to go camping.

susan said...

Do you speak of the Aborigines - a people balanced between the Dreaming and the perceivable world? We too might do well to value kinship, community, and the law of the Dreamtime as our greatest 'possessions'. Nice to know you agree :-)

Gary said...

Evocative photo and lovely verse Lindsay. Thanks.

lindsaylobe said...

Hi Sarah Susan & Gary
thanks for your visit - Susan - agreed
Best wishes

Rachael Byrnes said...

Here’s a challenge for you if you’re interested. I like your poems about the yarra, I think that kind of imagery would be good for some of my warm up songs I do with students – basic songs with a 3 or 4 note repetative phrase.

I need a poem with a 4 note meter like this

La La La La…… la la la la

So the each phrase would either need to be four, one syllable words or say two one syllable words and one, two syllable.. or some other combo where it = 4 syllables. Here’s something silly as an example

He was walk-ing
Near the riv-er
When he saw a
Broken zither