Island, country, continent?
Was it a land that was content
to be British colonies?
And what about the wallabies?
How to find the art of living,
how to find the art of love
To find the very art of harmony
circulating from above
Native trees shrubs and tussocks
growing down along the creek
Birds, wallabies, frogs, echidnas,
that's the kind of life I seek
Planting seeds in the garden,
building a wooden fence
It's the nature that surrounds me,
that really makes so much sense
Lying on my back in the sunshine,
watching fluffy clouds go by
Sometimes a wedge tailed eagle
glides across a clear blue sky
Running on the grass bare feet
naked in the warm moist breeze
Exhilaration fills the body,
with so much delighted ease
Found the very art of living,
found the very art of love
Found the very art of harmony
circulating from above
Charred wood and ash
stink, after fires
in Garigal high-country.
A single crow cries
road-side, on a black tree-post
guarding road kill –
a round brown wallaby
with feet stuck-up.
Ash covers ash:
grey dust lies still...
until rain drizzles sweet liquid,
wets dirt, licks seeds, nudges life.
Seeds swell, unfold,
lift leaves to prick the air :
grass-whiskers spring up.
Fat globes of summer-rain spill
between sandy soil-crumbs
where roots sip silver water.
One tomorrow, black-skinned scarred tree-trunks will sprout leafy chests,
and white cockatoos will screech graffiti over skies patched with clouds.
Once more, warm lips of wallabies will graze over green grasses,
nibbling: blessed again.
A couple of 'roos
A joey standing forlorn by it's unmoving mother
A few wallabies
A brick of a wombat
An Echidna
A heap of budgies
A raven
Some pretty green grass parrots
Cockies and galahs
A baby magpie
A snake
Some frogs
Someone's cat
A stray dog
All broken
Squashed flat
Mangled
Bloated
Instant death or slow painful bleeding out
In agony
All those battered bodies
The sadness of it all
The need for speed
Creating this meaningless road toll
And no-one seems to care
For koalas and wallabies yearning,
piles of money for tourism earning,
to Australia flying
and on jet fuel relying,
we now lose it and yell: "Oz is burning!"
Pups, imps, joeys, wiggling tailed marsupials, hunting in parties of five.
Deadly facial cancer has killed lots of us, it’s a wonder I am still alive.
I screech when I eat, carrion, my utmost favorite food, road kill.
My aggression insured me at babyhood alive I would be still.
There were fifty in my litter, but only four teats so we scrappers had to fight.
Growling and viciously, snarling at each other, slapping away nice ones in the night.
Our mother was grabbed by a caveman devil who dragged her off by the neck.
I was incensed, and promptly chased after them, thinking “what the heck?”
Some of my siblings were frightened out of the old hollow log,
not many decided to stay.
I was not one of them. I showed my teeth,
and my aggressors promptly ran away.
Wombats, wallabies, opossums and other animals on this island of mine.
Steer clear of my hollow log, knowing I will
snap them up and eat them in no time.
Matilda blew her didgeridoo
With wallabies hopping two by two
Some dingoes dropped by
To eat Shepherd's pie
Then off they went with a kangaroo.
Night brings a wondrous display
a mix and blended menagerie arrayed
with colors, melodies and creatures unmatched
by any hunter's imaginary superiority scratched.
In my wildest dreams at the midnight hour
comes the magical images of children's power,
a cartoon reality that finds life so interesting
with visions of all nature in peace co-mingling.
The majestic trees germinate flowers to grow then fall
where feathered birds and squirrels gather beneath its shawl
of catkin clutches formed to pollinate some distant tree of long ago
with love and purposeful blend hosted under the rainbow mistletoe.
Each dream images the strangest encounters
in melodic song for wallabies and flounders,
making sense of what was displayed in the vision quest
still lies a secret unrevealed to this nightly guest.
A track leads through a gully in the bushland
Following the least line of resistance in a haphazard plan
The kookaburras and the magpies squawk happily away
The sun on my back makes me want to stay
Walking to the rock face broken on the gorge face
Two wallabies look our way and away they race
A creek flows through glistening in the sun
The day exploring is heaven easily done.
© Paul Warren Poetry
windswept windsurfing wallabies warbling whales wailing................................................................................
A pink fish travelling with a tea towel is neither in a rush or dirty. Gridlocked gorillas getting grapes gracefully glide. Seafront mystery in windswept hair carrying a carrot, a jar of mustard, and ten grains of multicoloured rocks. A tambourine on a sponge cake can be beating but not beaten. And a lamb cawl is not a call nor a front crawl so place the gate and door at a sixty degree angle. Many custard cups play hockey with wildebeests in tutus. In a fingerless glove place nine toes, and in a pocket watch place a turning tubular pin. The frost from a llamas horn is neither stagnant or perfumed, it is merely a tidal wave of porridge. Hahaha magniloquent magnolia magnitude making monkfish moussaka. Hahaha equality equals equipment eveningwear xxxxxxx hospitalities Z z Z z Z
A white dossier is neither a manual for a pilot on a pivotal stand nor a baking tray waiting for butter. Criss cross ducking on an angled penned out sketch. Drawing a ruin is not a clever idea for ruins are raving and raving is a radiant rather real rhombus reaching radical radios rationally. But a tall ironed turban is a fanciful cheese at a party wrapped in silky golden studded bread paper. And the tissues are to be halted at the wide gates for they are increasingly dangerous when they are wet and wet is not rain, oil, or paint. It is the will of the course on a cross country that spans over 12, 650, 901 miles. And a kilometre is neither a kayak nor a kaleidoscopic kale. Making a mark on a moonlit mortality. And the ship goes beep beep beep in complete unison with an underground bus. Boom then. Bull bringing bombs baking beasts. And a ponytailed servant mouse peeking from a window in shrewd observation of the spectacular show below in a glow and in goblets grunting. Give no iron fists talon to a bluebird balancing on a jelly bean. Hahaha washing windows will water wallabies. Hahaha spoon dancing with a grape. Xxxxxx consequentialism
I travel 'long the winding track
Seeing mostly green, but a tree trunk black,
The orange and brown of a falling leaf,
It settles and nestles to a bush beneath,
A rocky outcrop where the wallabies bound,
The hidden tinklings of bellbirds sound,
A wispy fog emerging from a gorge,
Enveloping sheer cliffs that wind and rain forge,
It feels so good my walking track,
Although often away it always beckons me back.
Peace please to the nations from the seas to shiny sea,
To everyone sipping on shine or tea under any shady tree,
People from Alaska's freeze, Alstralias wallabies, and Hawaii's ocean breeze.
Peace please to ease the pain from the drain of living in the fast lane,
Get everyone's brain to stay sain to remain in the big game,
For respect we obtain needs maintained to keep a positive gain.
Peace please to all that crawl through hell's valleys and squalls,
Even to all who shops the malls, play ball, or want to brawl,
Mainly peace please to the veterans who stand tall and ones who fall!
Excitement filled the bushland as December was near
Every creature had been waiting for Christmas time - all year.
Wallabies hung their stockings on a gumtree branch with care
Just as all nice children do – everywhere.
Meanwhile those more up to date logged on the internet
sending E mails to Santa to see what they could get
Koalas draped high treetops with shiny garlands green
And furry possums lined their dens in golden glitter sheen
Wallabies joined in with bright balloons hung on their tails
All the crows tied streamers, cascading from the rails.
Kookaburras’ laughter changed to Christmas songs
While magpies and peewees piped along in throngs.
A wombat and a bandicoot made honeysuckle punch
The parrots came too early and drank’ til they got drunk
And when the’ Magic Pudding’ came to help with Christmas Dinner
His taste was so delicious he left a trifle thinner.
With a Kangaroo as Santa, his pouch stuffed full of cheer
hopping ‘round the outback in the hottest time of year
Just guess what all the drovers got- lots of ice-cold beer.
Suzanne Delaney
For Children's Christmas Poem Contest for Carol Eastman
You are the twinkle in the life
of elephants and blue giraffes.
You conjure them up in your sleep
and give them lots of ginger treats.
Perhaps you ride on lion's backs
and hear of secret planned attacks
on zebra homes and wallabies.
Perhaps you even hear them sneeze.
Maybe you hop in your canoe
and race the river otters too
to find the crocodile flower
and taste the kumquat, small and sour.
I think that all your dreams are true
A red-backed snail with one slug shoe.
A butterfly who sells perfume
and marbles played in moth cocoons.
Bubbles blown by flying fish
and riding them to wherever you wish.
A swirl of purple pearly walls
to protect all of your lemur calls.
A thousand sunset’s burn below you.
A serenade from Him that knows you.
You dream in delicate patterns deep
of animals you're sure to keep
And care for in the paradise
You'll feed the parrots coconut rice.
and scrub the algae turtle's back
while he chews on a lettuce snack.
You'll nestle in the wild bears den
and help them call the salmon friend.
It's quite a sight to comprehend
A dream to make our dreaming end...
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