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Marshal Gebbie Sep 2022
Australia, in that time, was a harsh and unforgiving place with a people born of convict stock. Hardship depicted that things were black and white and, should circumstance turn bad, matters were dealt with in a manner reflecting the brutality of the country.

The relentless dry heat of the baking sun, the listless hang of the eternal eucalypts and the everlasting expanse of red rock and vast flat plains, the shimmering mirage on the horizon and the impossibility of what lay ahead.

Whatever eventuated to destroy the life of the Frye's was borne
in the unrelenting hardship of the country and the oppression of the circumstance prevailing at that time.

To some degree a vestige of the same inherent legacy remains, subliminally, in the heart and minds of the denizens who chose to live in Australia to this day, reflecting, to a large degree, the extreme of the vastness and unforgiving nature of this land .

M
Who fled these shores 55 years ago for the abundance of New Zealand.
A reflection on reading John Wiley's tragic account in his poem "Frye's Clump"
Marshal Gebbie Sep 2022
I met her there last week, swathed in her earthy robe.
She spoke of incidentals, her aches and pains, the need to continuously gather firewood, the pro's and cons of forest life...the loneliness.
When prompted, with a gift of good tobacco, she told me of her best love. A youth of such tender beauty, of such delicate expression...and exquisite passion....and so brief an encounter, just four lost days of the most intense sensation.

The realization of love.

With the rising morning mist the curling elevation of senses spiraling within, beyond the sen-sate, beyond the purr of ecstasy,
beyond the mortal, mind numbing bounds of ordinary expectation...

And then he was gone.

"Leaving me as you find me now", she said, "old bent and depleted....but unsuspectingly, I find myself replete... for I have touched the very face of God and kissed the Devils hand".

She smoked her pipe, sitting quietly with me by the fire, she gently thanked me for the tobacco and the companionship and bade me, farewell with crinkled old eyes of good humour ....
and with that, and the knowledge that I had met someone of consequence, I took my leave.

M.
For Patty
Having wrapped myself in several readings of Patty M's enveloping piece :"The Crone", I let slip with a fantasy which that wonderful work invoked.
M.
Foxglove@TaranakiNZ.
I do not plan to exit meekly.
I aim to be drug into that twilight
Tightly clutching the shirt-tails of my life
Hanging on by teeth and toenails.
ljm
I love living and never want to quit.
Unburdens the dusky river

dreams of flow dead in the bog of hyacinth
harvest burnt in the scorch of aridity
ripples robbed by the silt of dogma
sunbeam denied by the **** of creed


I was meant to reach the sea,
now I would never make it.


I pick the river's shattered pieces
with my own from the wintry dusk.
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