Olive-tipped white bones
press up against the sky;
release a haze of blue
over the Great Divide.
Beyond is no hotter
but boy does it get dry
and stones grow into boulders
to make for the roughest ride.
Many now gone crossed here
looking for life on an inland sea;
time passed by in languid blink and
the passage was used frequently.
First as horse trails
then for bullock carts;
scars of early progress.
As newcomers looked for the heart.
these would heal and disappear,
unlike the standard gauge beams
and heavy diesel machines,
then macadam ribbons;
black snakes of concrete and tar,
cutting through sandstone
older than any man’s claim;
further than a day’s ride home.
Older than kangaroo and emu,
older than platypus, currawong;
young as this nation might be,
it is the land that made us strong.
Comments
Silver Spun Sand | May 13, 2011 - 08:55
Enjoyed this, Mark...the last stanza especially...but what is a currawong? The mind boggles;-)
Tina
fatboy74 | May 13, 2011 - 10:43
Do enjoy your poems Dynamaso and love that image of the macadam ribbons. :-)
Dynamaso | May 13, 2011 - 10:53
Tina, a currawong is a native bird - kind of looks like a cross between a magpie and a raven. Thanks for your kind words.
maisie | May 13, 2011 - 16:54
"languid blink" yummy!
skinner_jennifer | May 13, 2011 - 18:57
Hi Dynamaso,
loved this poem, especially your use of words,
brilliantly written.
Jenny.
mikepyro | May 14, 2011 - 06:10
I admitthat I stumbled at a few points when reading aloud, mostly at the boy is it dry line, but the words themselves make up for any rough points in flow. I agree with the shared sentiment of the last four lines, great ending bit.
Always love pieces that deal with the rough land and this cells in these points so It especially had me enjoying it. Good work
Dynamaso | May 15, 2011 - 09:05
Hi all, sorry for the blanket response but my computer is playing up at the moment *sigh* Thanks for reading.