APRIL/MAY COMPETITION - POST ALL ENTRIES HERE

[Ric Raftis]

G'day all,

Well the last one is over and the new one begins.  So what shall our topic be?

It's that time of the year when the eyes of all, but more particularly the farmers, turn towards the heavens in search of dark clouds which bring the opportunity to till the earth, sow a crop and fill dams.  It's 10 years now we've been in drought and for once the suburbs are feeling it as well.  Perhaps townies will begin to realise what a precious commodity water is to us all.

And so, I bring you a choice of two topics that are closely entwined.  You decide which one you care to write about.

1.  Global Warming/Climate Change
2.  Water

All the best.

[Bernard de Silva]

“THERE IS A FLOWING LINK...”.

Its passage shows a verdant blaze,
from ranges, unfolding to the sea.
A corridor that heat cannot erase,
refreshed by lifeblood flowing free.

It wends in its weary looping way,
Leaving rugged mountain chains.
An etched meandering in the clay,
its scarring livid ’cross the plains.

Wild lantana laces the scrub verge,
where lush Guinea grass prevails.
It’s here that first ravines emerge,
a stream, the hillside slope assails.

Rain Gods rumble forth a message,
then, those sparkling cascades fall.
Tumbling waters downwards rage,
soon brownish torrents one and all.
 
The flat land becomes a flood plain,
muddy streams widen, to almost still.
Billabongs and channels swell again,
run a-banker, as Anna branches fill.

Brown water, moving ever seawards,
in a pilgrimage, onward to the coast.
It tints the pathway tidal flow affords,
movement aided, a river how its host.

The ocean turbulence beckons cobalt,
stands dominant, all rivers to ever rule.
Sullied flow struggles to a vain result,
consumed, the watery majesty to refuel.

A cycle oft’ repeated through the years,
rain upon mountains, is born of the sea.
Now a changing climate fuels the fears,
if circles are broken…what then will be?

©. Copyright:  Bernard de Silva…14 April 2007.
 

[Bernard de Silva]

“Water Everywhere…”

Does the thought petrify your tonsils,
and place constriction in your throat.
Are you scared of any transferred ills.
do you still picture little things afloat.

Is there an illusion of colour tainting,
to some subtle type of jaundiced clear.
A scent or taste, you’re contemplating,
or maybe the microbe count you fear.

Water, the topic, in Toowoomba town,
can you discount recycling, post haste.
Is it pure, or a whiter shade of brown,
essential to develop, an acquired taste.

Numb your senses, fortify your throat,
dismiss illusion, ever false and hollow.
Forget images of bobbing things afloat,
be a devil, don’t think about it…swallow.

©. Copyright: Bernard de Silva. 24/07/06.

[therese]

'hippies' they said in an attempt to deride
and taunted them also with 'flower child'
the 'hippies' grabbed it and wore it with pride
at peace with themselves, they smiled

an object of scorn and derision
they ridiculed all their ideas
but now, they've changed their decision
claiming them, after all these years

the foods and ideals they lived by
are now touted, as major breakthroughs
to warn against global warming, they tried
sadly now, it headlines the news

perhaps, they're owed some apologies
without the small victories, they championed
campaigns, fund raising and rallies
how  bigger a mess would we be in?

therese mitchell

[Bernard de Silva]

"RESIDUUM, IN RUSSET."


Scantly flowering Melaleucas, lend their sickly, cloying, scent,
parched, among swamp grasses and saplings long since dead.
Adding to the reek of stagnancy, a sourness senses more resent,
the pungency, of carrion tepid water, by decay turned russet red.

A crazed tapestry of earth, patterned and disfigured by the sun,
sad warped grey red tainted shapes, a chalice of shattered clay.
Forlorn sepia laced parody to wetland, where waters never run,
silent, a haunted graveyard, where bush denizens seldom stray.

The grasses, dry as parchment yet stand, stained alike with rust,
flood plains extend desolate, to the ridges, beneath a morbid sky.
Barren earth, a coarseness, of wind blown grains devoid of dust,
grim shrouds for a residuum in russet, a swamp in days gone by.

©. Copyright: Bernard de Silva.

[Bernard de Silva]

"A KIND OF DESERT…SO TO SPEAK."

I fished here in the fifties, there was water then you know,
all clear, deep and flowing, weed beds waving down below.
Over yonder it was shady, there were trees beside the creek,
now it's only sand and gravel…a kind of desert so to speak.

Then native scrub was standing, beyond grass upon the hill,
stands of golden wattle, in thought I smell its fragrance still.
Now the ridges are eroded, barren soil lies scarred and bare,
dry winds of rain-less summers, for the hill sides do not care.

Remnants of boundary fences, lying vanquished in the sand,
blackened strainers, sagging russet wire, derelict they stand.
I roamed here in the fifties, before I saw the seasons change,
an old man now I walk a sandy wasteland, alien and strange.

The dividend of indifference, with which progress is fraught,
avarice, with a lack of foresight, equilibrium seldom sought.
The landscape soon devastated, by ignorance and the plough,
bores, dams, irrigation, climate change, penance we pay now.

Fished right here in the fifties, only sand here now you know,
all dried, nothing flowing, even down underground far below.
Over yonder once was shady, there were trees beside the creek,
now there's only sand and gravel…a kind of desert so to speak.

Sequel to man's superior knowledge… another desert so to speak…

©. Copyright: Bernard de Silva

[the grey]

Where's The Water Gone

There's a rather sad phenomenon that's plaguing our great land
and just like the wary gambler it's about to play it's hand.
All the signs have been quite evident and round now for a spell,
but we've fobbed them off, ignored them all, as far as I can tell.

From the times of early childhood when my fam'ly drove around,
all the creeks were full of water and the bores were rather sound,
sure enough the droughts they came and went but mate, I have to say
that our Nation's running kind of dry, hard times are on the way.

Hey I think we've done our dash old son 'cause what is going on.
All our dams and bores are getting low and where's the water gone.
We will have to make some changes and mate make them pretty fast,
as the water's disappearing and it sure as hell won't last.

Though we've held bad hands in years gone by we've always lived in hope,
that the rains were somewhere in the deck and til then we would cope.
But the evidence is ominous and looking rather bleak
and we'd do well to consider all the havoc it could wreak.

We need each and every one of us to play a vital role,
as we're playing for high stakes here and there's need for self-control.
All will have to change the lifestyles that they've been accustomed to
and we'll have to play our hands right and seek out an Ace or two.

Hey I think we've done our dash old son 'cause what is going on.
All our dams are bores are getting low and where's the water gone.
We will have to make some changes and mate make them pretty fast,
As the water's disappearing and it sure as hell won't last.




© Bush Poet and Ballad Writer Merv Webster

[therese]

~ snowy river ~

the man from snowy river
saw the river in it prime
but this once wonderful treasure
has diminished over time

what once was wide and rushing fast
is a trickling overgrown trough
not now an echo of the past
stagnant pools and weeds so rough

at last the powers to be
have finally seen some sense
releasing more water, however slowly
some long overdue recompense

therese mitchell

[the mad mare]

The Perils Of Water

Water!  Water!  Stinkin' water!
It should be bloody banned, it oughta!

Ya' shouldn't drink the flamin' stuff,
'cos when ya' drink e-bloody-nuff,
it makes ya' put on heaps'a weight,
and that don't make the butt look great.

My hubbie said, "Hey, Jiggle-Butt,
you really need to lose that gut!"
So now, I'm only drinkin' water
'cos my sweet hubbie said I oughta.

I suck it straight from hose or taps,
but water, it don't fill the gaps.
I drink it till I go beserk,
this lunch of water just don't work!

I feel the need to have a chew.
Ah ha, this Cherry Ripe will do.
A Mars Bar, then a Milky Way
with water, several times a day.

I'll tell ya'  on the shoosh and quiet
H2O's 'bout half me diet.
I stretch me jeans but don't fit in,
so chuck that water in the bin!

Although that water made me fatter,
I say, "Who cares?  That don't matter!
'Cos chubby's better anyhow -
there's more of me to cuddle now!"

[Ric Raftis]

G'day all,

Well entries were down a bit considering the topic.  I thought it would have provided a fair bit of latitude.  Not to worry however, some good entries were received.  Here are the comments from our esteemed judge A.Judi Cater

Well, the subject of water certainly didn’t seem to bring out the joyous side of many of you, did it?  Most poems were depressing, but I guess the water situation in Australia is just that at the moment – depressing and worrying.

Full marks to Bernie for entering so many poems – four in total!  What champion effort!   I think this could be the most anyone has ever entered in one comp?  His poem “There Is A Flowing Link” was a quick geography lesson on the mechanics of our river systems, while “Water Everywhere” was quite “distasteful” (pardon the pun).  “Residuum In Russet” and “A Kind Of Desert So To Speak” were both full of vivid imagery about our swamplands and creeks drying up.

Therese is the Queen Of The Quick Poem.  I admire her ability to present her message or story so concisely, which is a skill in itself.  Good on you Therese.

Merv (The Grey) always has good rhythm to his poetry and an interesting message, and I always find his poetry very gentle and easy to read.  By that I mean, he uses simple but effective words that don’t leave the reader wondering what he was really saying.  I think that is important, especially in performance poetry – listeners don’t want to be distracted by words they don’t understand.  At least with written poetry, the reader has the luxury of digging out a dictionary to clarify some meanings.  Excellent job Merv.

Kym’s poem “The Perils Of Water” was like a cold drink on a hot day – a relief after the depressing poems before it.  At least someone found a happy perspective to water!  And I’m sure she does understand that it’s not the water at fault in her situation …

The winner this month is a tie – I liked Bernie’s “A Kind Of Desert So To Speak” and Merv’s “Where’s The Water Gone?”  Congratulations to you both!  And I’ll give Kym a Commended for being the only one to find a positive look at water and attempt to give us a laugh.  Thank you!

Congrats to Merv and Bernie!

Cheers,

[Irene]

Congratulations to all who entered poems for this last competition - you all did well, and some interesting points were raised.
I must admit, I haven't found myself at all inspired over the last month or two to write anything, let alone on this topic. Still, the next topic looks like being very interesting - should get some great poems!!!

Again, well done to you all, especially Bernie and Merv as the winners.

Catchya
Irene

[zondrae]

..Here here,

I second Irenes comments. I could not come up with anything last comp. My primary school reports always said "This girl should try harder." Guess some things never change. OK I will try to do better this time.

[therese]

congratulations bernie and merv.  woohoo a tie!

thankyou so much for your kind words judi!  much appreciated