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The Andamooka Storm

The saltbush stirred in a sullen breezeAt the Coober Pedy Mine,Where the ground was baked to a shallow crustWith the surface cracked, and lined,For it hadn't rained for a seven month,And the sky was clear and blue,While a spirit crept from the Opal stone,At Andamooka, too.At Mintabie, the wind crept outOf a hole in the sacred ground,It swirled and it swept across the landAs the spirit scowled and frowned,It formed a cone and it swept aroundTo the Andamooka side,And joined with the Coober Pedy windLike a bridegroom to a bride.The cone spread out three hundred miles,It growled as it whirled in grace,And the dust it stirred streamed skywards upLike a funnel in outer space,While the men below in the Opal MinesHid deep in the dugout's lair,Lay flat on the floor and held their earsFrom the scream of the storm out there!While less than a hundred miles awayIn the depths of a grim old ruin,Sat a slip of a girl with a surly mouthAt a table, in the gloom,For piled up high on the table layThe fruits of her father's life,The greens and the golds of the Opal stonesThat he'd worked for, with his wife.But the girl sat quite alone in there,And could it be, she smiled,These sacks of rocks, not the only thingsThat lay by the demon child,For by her hand lay a hammer, stainedWith the colour of earth and mud,And something that glistened and dried on it,The red of her parents' blood!She strained and heaved at the sacks of rocksAnd dragged them out to the car,Then looked across at the mound of earthThat covered a gaping scar,She dragged the last sack to the porchAs the wind burst over the hill,And she saw the funnel of dust that swirledAs she worked her evil will.The edge of the swirling hurricaneWhipped over the shallow mound,Then swept it up in a stream that broughtA scream of a different sound,She ran out waving her puny fistsAt the spirit of Mintabie,But the storm had growled as the girl had howledAt the storm, to let her be!The old prospector's body layUncovered at last out there,His wife beside as she too had diedWith the blood running through her hair,They stared unseeing before them nowAt the daughter who screamed and cried,But the storm drowned out the daughter's shout,As she tumbled about, outside.The funnel whirled for an hour, then left,It ravaged the countryside,Took a hundred thousand tons of dirtOn a whirling dervish ride,It covered the Sydney Harbour BridgeLeft cities to choke in the dust,To tell of a daughter's parricideAnd the loss of a mother's trust!While waiting out by an ancient trackFor the next car passing by,Is a sight to curdle the hardest heart,Two corpses, side by side,They lie uncovered, while straight aheadIn line, where their eyes had been,Is a girl who's buried right up to her neck,Who couldn't be quite fourteen!David Lewis Paget 143

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If Poetry Had Skin

Words wrap around melike a lover,skin on skin;Whispering delicately in my ear,begging to come in.Tender flesh exposed,waitsfor the gentle tickling there.Audibly I gaspas the meaning strips me bare.Radiating outwardto each sense and every cell,I am filled with sweet vibrationas the wave begins to swell.Exploding within melike a supernovadeep in space,emitting energy unbridledin a previously empty place.Holding me rapt in wonderwith galaxy-like arms;Safe in your bosom I rest,enveloped in your charms.If poetry had skinit would be the perfect lover.Forever faithful I would beto it and no other. 143

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storm birds

      Storm-Birds  I saw them one morning a sea-gull couple, white andgrey. They were walking around the village like a pairof tourists, only took flight when dogs or people camenear.  They spent nights on my roof, sparrows keptwell away. A storm blew up salt spray from the bittersea reached up to the village. When the storm abatedthe olive trees were white, and the ground glinted ofsalt crystals. I braved the cold went out looking forthe seabirds, but they had flown away, further inlandI think, to avoid the memory of the sea.        143

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storm birds

      Storm-Birds  I saw them one morning a sea-gull couple, white andgrey. They were walking around the village like a pairof tourists, only took flight when dogs or people camenear.  They spent nights on my roof, sparrows keptwell away. A storm blew up salt spray from the bittersea reached up to the village. When the storm abatedthe olive trees were white, and the ground glinted ofsalt crystals. I braved the cold went out looking forthe seabirds, but they had flown away, further inlandI think, to avoid the memory of the sea.        143

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Reaching

I was reachingFor what it now seems     unimporant All I saw out of the cornerOf my eye     was a patch of green It seemed to have pausedTurned and smiled     at me What I meant to do was respondAll my emotions     caught in my throat Alone afraid confusedI let it walk away     from me =====================================copyright 06-20-1966  143

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