#Australians #Women
The day was clear as fire, the birds sang frail as glass, when thirsty I came to the creek and fell by its side in the grass. My breast on the bright moss
Now my five senses gather into a meaning all acts, all presences; and as a lily gathers the elements together,
So here, twisted in steel, and spo… your sunlight hide, smelling of de… they crushed out your throat the t… you sang in the dark ranges. With… you mourned him! - the drinker of…
Having known war and peace and loss and finding, I drink my coffee and wait for the sun to rise, With kitchen swept, cat fed,
The rows of cells are unroofed, a flute for the wind’s mouth, who comes with a breath of ice from the blue caves of the south. O dark and fierce day:
The blacksmith’s boy went out with… and a black dog running behind. Cobwebs snatched at his feet, rivers hindered him, thorn branches caught at his eyes…
That time of drought the embered a… burned to the roots of timber and… The crackling lime-scrub would not… and Mooni Creek was sand that yea… The dingo’s cry was strange to hea…
The eyeless labourer in the night, the selfless, shapeless seed I hol… builds for its resurrection day— silent and swift and deep from sig… foresees the unimagined light.
He thrust his joy against the weig… climbed through, slid under those… foam— (hawthorn hedges in spring, thorns… How his brown strength drove throu…
Over the west side of the mountain… that’s lyrebird country. I could go down there, they say, i… and I’d see them, I’d hear them. Ten years, and I have never gone.
We meet and part now over all the… we, the lost company, take hands together in the night,… the night in our brief happiness,… We, who sought many things, throw…
All things conspire to hold me fro… even my love, since that would mask you and unna… till merely woman and man we live. All men wear arms against the rebe…
This is not I. I had no body once… only what served my need to laugh… and stare at stars and tentatively… on the fringe of foam and wave and… Eyes loved, hands reached for me,…
South of my days’ circle, part of… rises that tableland, high delicat… of bony slopes wincing under the w… low trees, blue—leaved and olive,… clean, lean, hungry country. The c…
In the vine-shadows on the veranda… under the yellow leaves, in the co… sit two sisters. Their slow voices… like little winter creeks, dwindle… and the square of sunlight moves o…