Personal Poetry
Another Point Of View Page 3
Australian Holiday
Red racer
set its stealthy pace upon adventures track,
as though to take us far away and never bring us back.
On Moonbi Mountain’s switchback road she shyly picked her
way.
Paused while at sight of fox and a willow on display.
She rested
in the shade of tree,
while we drank sweet Honey Meade.
Then hurried on to Singleton,
land of wine and milk and cheese.
A mixed up
land where giant’s jaws
rip black rock stones below,
The stones that burn and for us all,
create power, don’t you know?
Canberra
then before us loomed,
ideally planned, tis said.
A mirage come true that capitol city’s view,
But we said ado and sought anew,
the mountain’s bush land true.
On Pebbly
Beach that sunny morn,
kangaroos bold in the art of begging,
reached for loaf to nibble toast
with bloated bellies sagging.
Red racer
ran to Sydney Town,
where millions work and play.
My memory lost mid rising spires,
I knew her not in this attire!
Oh, do you see the brilliant sails
on bobbing vessel’s mast?
Burning sun illuminates each colour as they pass.
Roofs of tile in burnished red,
the terrace house, a garden bed.
The Opera house with sails of white,
anchored on her watery site.
Glowing red upon the Bridge a merry twinkling light,
warns those silver wings above of danger in the night.
On Qantas House aloft on high her
flying Kangaroo.
A harbour cruiser slipped slowly by,
trimmed stem to stern with lights.
She passed the silent dockyards and slithered out of sight.
Red racer’s champing at her bit
to be on her road again!
So return my friends to the Southern Cross,
to the land of the burning sun.
Return to this place of wilderness space,
The curious land down under.
By Myrna McFall
Oh, Liquid Friend!
Day after day, one hundred and one,
in blistering heat of the mid day sun.
Will we ever see again, the return of thee, oh liquid friend?
Day after day, one hundred and two,
the sun is bright and the sky is blue.
Where have you gone, oh morning dew?
The earth’s near bare at every view!
Day after day, one hundred and three,
all creatures thirst for want of thee.
No luscious green for nourishment,
they stand so frail in discontent.
Dingoes prowl the valley floor.
Can we survive?
Will nature ignore?
We pray each day will be the end.
Return thee now, oh liquid friend!
By Myrna McFall
Nature In A City View
There is a small park just north of Ryde,
where children often swing and slide.
Adults pause to rest awhile
and to their faces comes a smile.
Surrounded by flats in bricks of varied hue,
tis nature’s small part of the city’s view.
Overhead the 747’s soar,
on gleaming wings with deafening roar!
The streets are crowded with business trucks
and over the road a shopping centre goes up.
There heard o’er noise of workmen’s construction,
a bird on loudspeakers calls out instructions.
Yet among all this bustle and noise,
man has remembered the need to provide,
a little place to rest and play,
where from the crush we can hide away!
By Myrna McFall
