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  Sep 2022 Marshal Gebbie
S R Mats
When I see you again

I'll choke back the years . . .

of fears
of tears
of needing
of wanting
of not having
of not knowing

And you will explain
What actually happened.
Write what I know?  I am pocked with
chunks of broken moments.
Bits fall to the ground, trip me.
The terrain of my youth is a
moonscape.  I know what I know in
the craters of this place.

Born on the darkside and thirsty, I was
cold.  I found the sun later when I
was tumbled out the door of my
Mother’s leaking house.  Her screams
had become tentacles of maniacal
music.  Or do not call it music for
if you heard it you would not dance.

I am old now.  The view from my landing
is filled with sunlight and children,
“There are children in the leaves,
laughing excitedly”.   (Eliot)
I am paused in this imagination on
occasion.

When she is quiet,
I sweep her under the porch
where she lies drunk and unlaughing.
I do not let her out.  Yet she
steers me.  Her corpse loud
in her ***** nightdress.  

The terrain of my old age is pitted
with the debris of this haunting.  She
unsings me, makes me lie in
craters from which I climb up
daily only to tumble back down,
to have to begin again
from the bottom each new **** day.

But I sing as I crawl. And
she does not like the sound of that

Caroline Shank
Marshal Gebbie Sep 2022
Abruptly rearing up a thousand feet out of a thousand miles of flat South Australian desert, a massive plateau with near vertical flanks. Rich red coloration of the abrupt cliffs which separate it as a different world from the surrounding terrain and topped with a mantle of dense, pale green eucalyptus gumtrees.

Unbelievable to approach, seemingly impossible to perceive, like a rearing giant brontosaurus amid the sands of a vast hot flat swamp.

A part of the Flinders ranges in South Australia, it is populated by huge, solitary grey kangaroos, screaming flocks of pink breasted galah's and a *** pouri of rapacious and venomous snakes and spiders plus clouds of ******* blowflies the like of which you would never wish to encounter again.

Hike on the narrow switchback trails and you will sweat a river of perspiration, the incessant heat of a burning overhead sun will have you running from sparse shade to shade. Precious little cover afforded by the spindly gum trees, the ascent is steep and the reflected glare and heat off the burning red earth will have you visualizing the instantaneous relief of a tankard of chilled frothy ale in no time flat!

The Wilpena Pound is a genuine wonder to behold. In a country of scores of vast geographical and geological wonders, Wilpena is unique in that it is a complete surprise to come upon and spectacular, beyond words. Not to be approached lightly or ill equipped it is reminiscent of Arthur Conan Doyle's fabulous  "Lost World". This giant uplifted plateau is uncomprehendingly isolated, challenging and massive.
A truely incredibly monolith, this vast structure is indeed unique and brutally rewarding to those few who venture forth seeking adventure in the challenge that is WILPENA.
One of a multitude of wild wonders of inland Australia.

M.
December 1998
Prompted by John Wiley's many colourful poems about the  remote Flinders Ranges north of Adelaide in South Australia.
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"
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