"uluru" poems
(On the death of a daughter)
The death I must pronounce upon
For you, parents, the wait was long
Across this land unjustly tried
Your silence only proof you lied.
In pitch darkness, dragged overland
By Dingo jaws and human hand
Guilty and gaoled, she would have read
In her sixth year, were she not dead
Just six weeks, never spoke a word
Now flies the night, free as a bird
Over deserts ochre and red
On Uluru she rests her head
Wakens and plays in sunlight stark
Darts in rock shadows, cool and dark
In Rainbow Spirit surely trust
She lies lightly in sand and dust.
© M.L.Emmett
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:56 AM UTC
Oh the outback what you've shown me
Uluru is but one piece discovered
This is raw and the real Australia
Beauty here is vast and wide
And wildlife is richer than the people
Culture is purely in abundance
Knowledge of aboriginal tradition is shared
Landscaped variety of same stretched desert
Once changed the view is most dramatic
Visions of geological change in earths' history
Each day makes me want more
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
The many natural wonders
That Australia has to show
Mysteriously appearing
So many years ago
Looking up onto the Snowy’s
From the lakes of Jindabyne
You appreciate the beauty
That will stand the test of time
From Katoomba falls to Orphan Rock
The three sisters standing tall
The beautiful Blue Mountains
Where Mother Nature gave her all
Down south of the border
Along the coastline you will see
The apostles and the Loch Ard Gorge
Formed by limestone naturally
The Grampian to the Dandenong’s
Buchan Caves to Wilsons Prom
It makes you wonder when and where
This great beauty came from
Travelling further West
You will wonder what you’ve found
The Blue Lake of Mt Gambier
The colourful Wilpena Pound
Over the Nullarbor you’ll go
Cross the Great Australian Bight
Flinders Ranges far behind you
Slowly fading out of sight
On through the Sterling Ranges
Where the wildflowers abound
Jagged peaks of Granite
Shooting upward from the ground
Then to the Red Centre
The most wondrous place of all
Its colours ever changing
With every day’s nightfall
The Olgas up to Arnhem Land
Devils Marbles, Uluru
Katherine Gorge to Mataranka
Standley Chasm, Kakadu
Over to the Sunshine State
The holiday makers dream
The Barrier Reef, The Daintree
The National Parks of Tambourine
The South Pacific Islands
Blue Waters and white Sands
To the tropical rainforests
Which are further north, inland
Then down to the Apple Isle
With its historic convict past
Cradle Mountain, Derwent Valley
Russell Falls and Tasman’s Arch
The many natural wonders
So majestic and so grand
Make it easy to appreciate
This great Australian Land
Elise L Turnedge
1997
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 7:15 AM UTC
i have no heart to speak of,
only a stone's worth
of what you consider
yours to be soft,
pouch-like
stumbling upon ovaries
and that, which
becomes an incubating
wound to your former
freedoms;
a heart that's a stone
that's simply thrown
into an abyss,
with, or without you to
catch it,
my heart isn't a crucifix,
it's the temptation
in the desert,
that it might turn
to bread, and feed you with
its softening,
for care, concern,
for those alienating things
bound to reveal
the semi-detached home of
2+ people...
my heart isn't a soft pouch
of kangaroo flesh...
and it isn't a bribe of reminding
you to abide by the umbra crux
set alight...
if my heart as stone
cannot be turned into bread...
to appropriate a life of
a worth of family...
what could ever reason people
to think that a wooden cup,
or a wooden object of torture,
turn into either marble or into
gold?
if his heart,
the carpenter's ore of wood,
managed to achieve the alchemic
secret of being turned into
marble and into gold...
how can my stone heart,
turn into flesh?
did he raise a family?
did he? did he?!
don't expect me to
climb down from my throne,
that's uluru....
this heart, once as mighty
and majestic as a mountain,
shrunk to a pebble,
and then into a grain of sand...
and?
each day seems eternal...
endless, uncomfortable
to make awake in the middle;
what's the most beautiful thing
about english summers?
esp. after a thunderstorm?
or there-lack-of?
summers are only worth
glorification and prayer-like
gesticulations in the lunacy
of gratifying the coolness of air...
summer's evenings;
oh, and that 79 pence cider
bought at aldi...
motherfucker tasted so good
i almost choked on my saliva
while walking... name?
orchard irish cider...
one word on this day where
i sweated out a marathon preparing
dinner: mercy.
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 10:00 PM UTC
it's a place i've only seen in pictures
a ruddy monument of sand and stone
with bold striations like ancient scriptures;
a history engraved upon a colossal throne.
May 23, 2023
May 23, 2023 at 1:41 PM UTC
We go, no one sleeps
easy slow weeks
just keep coming
flying high on the float bus
to Uluru, engine drumming
living like a curious ghost
on nothing
but noodles, jellied toast,
and cheap beer.
Wake me when
we’re getting near
to where we’re going-
I fear though, here
the heat is growing.
Maybe we should steer
instead to where
the coast is clear
and glowing red
to end the day, and drive
and drive the heat away
by splashing in the tide.
Living free is easy
by the fading sea
where we may see
the decade ride.
Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 5:21 PM UTC
White dots stood out on dark blue silk, wrapped the delight whimsical,
cute, adorable, much better than kilt,
the slightest gentle touch they tickle.
Vines, jet black sturdy healthy,
dancing carelessly when the wind blows steady,
Elegance comme il faut at the top of the world,
A tempest romance as the ravens twirl.
Black holes enthralls as emerald grey fields,
Demands submission of those dare gaze,
The best is seen in those who yield,
A beauty silent attention appreciates.
Along the journey lay a spiritual hill,
Breath of life swirl through it with zeal,
High and pointy, Uluru bound insecure,
But tis a spiritual hill that emanates allure.
The crater below, softly, ever dormant,
Its gentle kiss enchants the lust of many,
Encouragement eruptions a common occurance,
A well of life the volcano's true identity.
Etched on pearl white clay, treble and bass,
the sound of music sings the tune of grace.
Confident and strong the flow of feminity,
Do not mistake its strength for masculinity.
Dec 5, 2019
Dec 5, 2019 at 10:28 PM UTC