Away from the World Waking
Patricia Rayner
Walk in your sleep beyond Yeppoon
Out to the island...James McAuley.
Where once - without the weight of flesh
And Plato might agree or a poet here or faraway -
Where once the dreamtime and the Wapparaburra were,
These were seen, these were the psyches' shapes, spirits
Long born of Aboriginals, and flying towards the future,
Certain, they went the way to meet tomorrow's sun.
West to east these danced this journey - flew into hours
And decorated all with wings, and gathering up my gaze
They met, they merged, they paired and swimming air -
Over the sea, over the foreshore, some came single, some
They paused in flight - came close and clustered -
Blue to light - in threes, in fours, in sevens -
Multiplying, flocking never to nectar - blue to light
Outshining sea, more than sky, more blue, butterflies I saw
And away from the world - after noon on this island once.
The length of the foreshore complete, west to east these went
As I wondered, marvel-eyed and myth-enchanted, dream-caught
I saw butterflies go high, higher, way above, far beyond
The tallest trees, the island's rising slopes, they went.
All wings, to the height of any eagle's, osprey's flight
And vanished into sky - seeing the sun behind them, certain
They went to meet tomorrow's sun, these spirits living light
Where once the Dreamtime, where once upon a time...
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Haphazard Man
Rebecca Banner
My father is a
Haphazard man
Looking like an unkempt
Nazi, with his tickling moustache
And his nearly black eyes
(An accident I'm sure)
He opens his mouth and
Surprise! He is all kindness and
Laughing, yes he may be
American and talk like another
George Bush; but he does not
Like him, he likes me
"My girl" - I turn my head
Dippy smiles and bear hugs
I burrow deep into his cherished
Ruby shirt; I bought it for him
Once, counting out small change
To make the cut
My father smells like
Giorgio; Always
But I never see him spray it on
When I lean in close I smell
America, flying, laughter
Story of my childhood, on his neck
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