Tis a photo of joy that reminds one to see
Past the murmurs to nudge toward something alive
Being that which connects and collides in a frame
Saturating a feeling of brightness inside
There atoning in wonder; illusioning fear
But you prospect for metals that steel your third eye
Fall upon this small magnet, deem one to be three
For the fourth is enforcing the fort caught engrossed
In my moment of sharing a careful word worn
Wearing waste jarring charred tarry stars from their place
Is a wayside where whey splits from curd and the corn
Found its oily way into good cooking and space
Here you wonder aloud where the crack has been formed
One can plunder light, draining some quiet repose
Lying low, waiting words sweeten rupturing line
To demand mindless maker defeat its caked praise
Ode defining the miners who seek what they find
Bolsters boyishness dearly adhering to rows
Taking weather near hither or thither to be
Coming back to the colour that brightened your sighs
In a thronging sensation; a resounding vibration
Persisting through filters that aid percolation
And a clear conversation, intent on elation
Bringing lingering things to the boiling point nation
Rolling out of the grey where you stay in all day
Reeling back from the black that attacked your old fray
Polling hacks that enraptured the brackish to clay
One can see now how clouds can delight in array
We eat the cows that eat the grass
We mind the cows to eat their ass
We cheat the vows we made to last
We mined the earth in ages past
We beat the chimps to bigger brains
We wine and dine upon the trains
We fleeting people on the plains
We find it’s dry until it rains
We eat the grass and smoke it too
We kind of care but so do you
We sweetly love the food we chew
We pine for more, the lucky few
We treat the earth alike a buyer
We sign a contract: No to Fire
We greet the desert then perspire
We line for food and eat food prior
We earth the cable into ground
We mine the minds that come around
We mirthful creatures safe and sound
We shine when eating from plates round
An artwork in response to an amazing, earthing trip to the Australian desert in 2012.
The photographic prints were blown up, huge, on the wall.
The poem sat by their side,
…you carry an axe camping.
Sure, the notion of being alone among several hundred kilometres of bushland has its hazards. For those not ripened in the camping arena, I shall inform thee of my new-found knowledge.
One is to worry much less about encountering potential lurking psychopaths than fallen trees. The latter proves to be almost unconquerable if said axe is not present for the road-block.
Even with an axe, your work will be cut out for you, so make sure someone else is there to do most of the hard work. After all; you’re on holiday.
But in the interest of honesty, make sure you do the hikes you went there for. It might be the most dreamy, golden, warm wattle-clad clearing you’ve ever parked a tent on, but the views from the top are guaranteed to make you glow… in and out, if you live in Australia.
Then there’s the oft overlooked element: your company. For this trip, different people popped up like popcorn to make a bowl of delicious and hilariously satisfying adventures, now savoured by all kernels. You don’t need to know each other, just make sure you’re all of the same flavour, and remember; friends not on tether pop together.
As promised, I went to the arid and dry.
Only, something had changed in the landscape of late.
Great plains, always salty, cracked and creeping on for miles sat below a liquid surface.
Here upon the plains a quiet; something stirred in ghostly waters.
Badger Bates, respected elder, told of slaughter on the flood plains; how the killing of native people echoed on and on for years.
It was then we heard the students who’d been present here before us often came to tears; unsettled in this place of darkened desert.
It was not until the elder smoked the students through a fire, and he spoke to spirits settled in this place of violent past. And what followed was a calm; a lifting light, a subtle sigh. The feeling of the landscape changed, no more they felt the morbid weight and felt no need to break the camp.
For my part, there I stood and felt with heart the toiling on the soil. My science told me “silly!” but my instinct knew much more. Who am I to judge from outside that the spirits were not haunting? There indeed existed much more than my sweeping visit told.
I love you. As I pack some things to head to remote Australia for a couple of weeks, I’m starting to think of the journeys I’ve taken in this part of the world, where landscapes almost too beautiful for words went flowing on for miles and into my camera lens.
I expect to be reinvigorated by the sparseness of space; the most elusive powerful element to the world we crowd today.
A happy local.
Been playing around with some photos (note: done by hand, not inclined enough to have photoshop).
Gives me nostalgia for kaleidoscopes – where, as children, it made total sense to look at things upside down, side and out, back side up, back down side, side back down, up down yonder-
Here are some of the interesting ones. Giant patterns of life and land…