The Hill
Earth movers trim its rim
the conical shape erased.
How long will it take to
move all this soil
to another place?
From the Prison between
my freeway, that ex-hill,
you can't see land at all.
Invisible you - ant
underground, bee
in closed hive, nucleus
in thick-walled cell - you
will emerge and wonder
if the Prison shifted.
Earth movers trim the rim
the ancient volcano is erased.
You will feel strange, ask
yourself what has changed.
People will tell you:
your unease, slight
or deep, is a natural
part of being freed.
NaPoWriMo
APAD 10 prompt: horror
awake, scrambling for breath,
taste the acid thrown back,
swallow, swallow, throat
burning, add a pillow
avoid drowning
Showing posts with label roadworks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label roadworks. Show all posts
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Off the Cuff 2: A Water Poem & Flattening the State
April 2nd
APAD 2 prompt: a water poem
With all the rain, city floods, hailstones
causing roofs to cave in, it seems right
that reservoirs are refilling, resemble
dams again.
So as my daughter and I drive past
one of Lake Eildon's arms, we ask:
what's going on? where's the water?
the grass is green -
what happened here? Holiday homes
are perky, perched high above old
water level lines, banks cut away,
the floor covered
in grass and young gums, among
black skeletons of the ancestors.
Cars towing boats turn off as if
nothing's missing.
Oddly refreshing, these questions
after ten years' drought. Yet I am
nowhere near the source, for
easy answers.
Flattening the State
Driving along Hume Highway and
just before Curly Sedge Creek
we crane to see possible cover-up
criticise the cutaway half of a hill
mindful that Bacchus Marsh develops
in gaps between three quarries -
one for coal now abandoned; one
for sands, current site of realigning
freeway; and one still eating out
the lap of Lerderderg Gorge
accessed by a road called Pretty
Valley Lane. There's no valley now
because there's no hill. There's no
respite from dust in this town. We
are choking on our usefulness.
We are making money from dust.
New suburbs eat up the land
where land once produced food
flattening our vision of what is
possible as we cut and fill for progress.
APAD 2 prompt: a water poem
With all the rain, city floods, hailstones
causing roofs to cave in, it seems right
that reservoirs are refilling, resemble
dams again.
So as my daughter and I drive past
one of Lake Eildon's arms, we ask:
what's going on? where's the water?
the grass is green -
what happened here? Holiday homes
are perky, perched high above old
water level lines, banks cut away,
the floor covered
in grass and young gums, among
black skeletons of the ancestors.
Cars towing boats turn off as if
nothing's missing.
Oddly refreshing, these questions
after ten years' drought. Yet I am
nowhere near the source, for
easy answers.
Flattening the State
Driving along Hume Highway and
just before Curly Sedge Creek
we crane to see possible cover-up
criticise the cutaway half of a hill
mindful that Bacchus Marsh develops
in gaps between three quarries -
one for coal now abandoned; one
for sands, current site of realigning
freeway; and one still eating out
the lap of Lerderderg Gorge
accessed by a road called Pretty
Valley Lane. There's no valley now
because there's no hill. There's no
respite from dust in this town. We
are choking on our usefulness.
We are making money from dust.
New suburbs eat up the land
where land once produced food
flattening our vision of what is
possible as we cut and fill for progress.
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