It wasn't me walking out - It was the project officer, John, who was
once a champion long distance runner in England. He loves walking for
many kilometres over the rough terrain. An aboriginal elder called
Yvonne said, 'He mad. Dingoes hungry at this time of year.'
It sure is a different world up here.
Andrew
On 05/12/2007, Patrick McManus <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Andrew Wow those dingoes remind me of a friendly discussion on Poetryetc
> Ps perhaps the dingoes were just wanting a few poems from the old master???
> Patrick
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
> Behalf Of andrew burke
> Sent: 05 December 2007 06:58
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: snap: walking out
>
> Walking out over a rough and rocky ridge
> walking where cattle tread carefully
> season after season
> and rain pooled yesterday
> walking over breakaways and rock spills
> remembering tracks in England
> steeplechasing over moors
> ordinance maps and compasses
> but here he walks mapless
> feeling his adopted land
>
> A calf runs by
> a calf too young to be alone
> he turns to watch its
> awkward gait as it scurries away
> Now the sun stretches his shadow
> until it is pencil sharp at his head
> striding community muddles
> out of his muscles out of his bones
> puzzles of one culture with another
> worksheets tallies of hours & money
>
> Dingoes slink in late day light
> over the ridge with the sun behind them
> moving together to
> the constant shrilling of crickets
> with the group dynamic
> of an aboriginal dance company
> slinking their bony brown bodies
> toward him he pauses
> their muscles and bones warn him
> they begin a wide circle ragged circle
> an ovum collapsing com
> pressing as they slink their bodies
> about him a whine a yelp
> he walks faster show no fear
> turns walks backwards on his heels
> a few yards inspecting the pack
> they tighten their ragged circle
> before around and behind him
> picking up the pace his pace
> he stoops and picks up stones
> feels their comfort in his palms
> looks ahead to plan his way
> looks back and aims at the nearest dog
> who ducks and the ripple
> runs around the ring
> around the ring
> another rock this time a yelp
> he's hit his mark
> he yells out loudly uselessly
> 'get lost ya bastards!'
> still fear rises in him as they close
> and pant heads low focussed on him
> he lets fly with a volley of stones and shouts
> and walks faster and fast over
> roughest rock breakaway ahead
> the pack hangs back
> he raises a finger high in the air
> as he strides away
> showing bravado
> no fear
>
> --
> Andrew
> http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
> http://www.flickr.com/photos/aburke/
>
>
> --
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> 19:31
>
--
Andrew
http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/aburke/
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