Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
betterdays Apr 2014
The verdency has long been bleached from the grass.
It is now hollow straw and chaff.
It soughs and rattles it's
sorrow in whispering distress.

The livestock, ***** smudges
of skin and bone.
Stand listless, under the stick
bare branches, of the ghost gum .
Waiting for the rumble
of the feed truck to come.

The dust swirls, red fine
and irritating to skin and eyes.
The only creature to thrive
are the buzzing horde of
flies.

The bore pump clanks to life
and the water allotment
flows.
The sheep arise and drink
the trough, bone dry.
Before resettling into hungry
repose,
under the white ghost gum west of Gundagia.

This is drought, this is the
wait for rain, this is the daily
struggle, the farmers lonesome refrain.

All but the sturdiest stock
sold, shot or long gone dust,
to the unforgiving heat. Nuturing the best,
saved from starvations
questing hold.
To rebuild the farm
and complete Job's test.

After the rains have come,
all will be good again.
And if they don't come.
Doesn't matter, soon we'll
all be dead.
written after a conversation
with farming friends.
Laura Jones Jan 2017
Abstract shapes of various colours
Congregate against the viridescent canvas,
Ready to worship the thing that was hidden away for so long; arcane.
Prodigious circles of many talents,
A constant rotation of life and death.
A long road with no end.
Or a deep ocean with no beginning?
While the verdency of eau de Nil possess such entities,
The black and yellow striped obscurities peculate life and confer to the triangles.
Obnubilate.

— The End —