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Death and resurrection on Christmas Rock

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Whispering hills
The breeze spills engulfing gorges, ruffling trees.
The leaves whisper ancestral stories, signalling from
hill to hill creation mysteries.
The track wends past abandoned tennis courts
their turf is crushed, compacted anthills
that Salmon gums reclaim.
The creek is waterless but when seeded with rain
froglets bleat like lambs.
Once trees flaming orange were common on Christmas Rock
the granite, grey with age, once barren
yet when Earth trembled, it crevassed and soil collected,
water funnelled, plants sowed.
Myrtle now crowns the rock with orange-brown senescence
with rain it resurrects and transforms to green with red flowers.
It's the song of seasons: Creation, Christmas, Death and Resurrection.
Big sky
altocumulus thatched with diagonal rain
fields filled with stubble
luminescent_ silent
transcendent_ landscape
in other places ancient mesas
delineate power matrixes
god-generated patterns in heaven and earth
where human communities and gods converge
surveying the paddock
the black stone monolith Moolymoonga is sacred
to the Naaguja
mesas skirted with grain, green then golden
belong to the Irish
vistas of mesas connect peoples
under one big sky
A narrow track through trees.
Green moss on granite outcrops.
Sun-wet grass trees.
The fragrance of coming rain.
The dance and song of a blue wren.
A robin red-breast fluffing feathers.
The laughter of kookaburras.
The creaking click of frogs.
A symphony played by water drizzling on stepped rocks.
The choreography and crack of flames fingering
axe-pared logs in a fireplace
when outside rain thrums and wind beckons to come in.
A glint of sun on dark water in motion
like the eyes' irises coinciding a smile.
A hug from a friend with whom you've journeyed for years
who knows the darkness inside you but chooses to see the light.
A bath scented with lavender.
The after-glow embrace of a long-time lover.
The geometry of maple leaves
Acer shirasawanum
Thirteen roseĀ“ tinged tantours
on a harvest moon head,
number God's mercies,
he bends, blesses.
Eight gold fleur de lis
number new beginnings,
diaspora, those saved in the ark,
covenants and circumcision.
Eight gold fleur de lis
numbering new beginnings,
diaspora, those saved on the ark,
circumcision, covenants.
Dissectum Atropurpureum
Segments, seven
the number of divine completion,
deeply cut crimson weeps
Jesus said, 'It is finished.'
Six serrated spearheads
dipped in blood.
The sixth command,
'You shall not slay.'
Villa Taranto
Five ruby spires
number redemption,
Jesus' sacrifice gives us
a wiped slate.
Beni Schichihenge
Four teal tripods with cream edges
stained in red wine,
nature's number: seasons,
compass points, coverings
for Yahweh's tent.
A lone leaf
afloat on an invisible sea
comes to rest ashore
aground, gradually it senesces
compost for the living,
'flesh of my flesh,
bone of my bones,'



Deanne DaviesDeanne Davies is an award winning poet. Her poems have appeared in print in Verandah, Arena and Eureka Street. She is doing her graduate diploma in teaching and learning through Central Queensland University and lives in Geraldton WA.

Topic tags: poetry, Deanne Davies



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Existing comments

Loved reading these Deanne. Great writing.

Kate Krekos | 13 April 2016  

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