09 April, 2009

The bush

A Poem about a sad day, written by Artfox Daviau

so finally its come this devastating day
Eight years of peace and silence and of dread
I'm sorry for the wattlebirds cannot defend
their home now gone perhaps their babies dead

I knew the block next door already sold
and slowly fell into developers hands
and all the lorikeets now gather scared
avoid at distance the harsh shouts of men

"Ok i will go up and and take a look
it seems to me it wants to fall that way"
it doesnt want to fall at all you silly man
it wants to stand and wear the light of day

"might have to take that off pete
for if it falls it can get stuck"
its in the physics that they ply their trade
they care so little for the pools of shade

"its time to drop that spotty"
"can fell these two down there
and run a rope to guide their path
falling through the air"

"yeah we simply pull that over mate"
"no worries mate it will be fine"
"we need to lop that stringy so we can
freefall the ironbark along that line"

i could not save you, made it worse
another fell because i said
a lone survivor isolated on its own
that spotted gum becomes a danger now

So wonder friends at why resistance
here was made, a minor matter in the shade
"no sir you cannot use my diveway, nor to park"
if this is all I've left, my point is made

And now i cry for what has gone
yes some are left, but how the bush is torn
and here lies littered on the forest floor
these mighty trees are down, they live no more

saw them resisting, branches catching hold
refused to fall they way that they were told
the kookabuura makes his point and shakes his coat
his laughing stops as if caught in his throat

so now the sun comes through
and so much hotter summers come
and warm the winter, yet the bush
gone cold quiet in a once nice home

I'll see the moon come gliding past the trees
that still remain.
perhaps i'll mount my telescope
and see the stars again

my trees remain upon my block of land, and still
a towering spotted gum o'erhangs my roof
the bush lies closest at my very door
an island paradise where i can save just four

And a second:

They know, you see
They hear the wind and smell the sea
They know, so long before it appears
the storm approaching ever nears

They know, the lull
That pause before the storm, they cull
Their finished leaves, they float them down
To pool around, to spread across the ground

They know, maybe they smell the air
Perhaps they also hear the crackling there
They drop their branches in the hush
Awaiting patiently the burning brush

They know, they never fear
The loss, they never shed a tear
They realise, all they have they give
The greater gift, the more the chance to live

© Artfox 2009 (all rights reserved)

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