Keith Oliver Body Language & Bush Plant-Life and the Seasons in South West WA |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
| Keith Oliver © Copyright 2002 - Keith is soon to publish a collection of verse and some of his poetry is showcased on this site. |
 |
| Bush Plant-Life and the Seasons in South West W.A. (I) Summer In summer time spring’s new-born seeds lie dormant in the earth, Awaiting promised coming rains, in autumn’s great rebirth. In summer time the heat haze hangs, the winds blow hot and strong, The bush dries out but clings to life, though summer’s very long. In summer time the bush is dry, the hot winds scorch it drier, And people living close nearby are fearful of wildfire, In summer time the bush fires rage, huge hellish flames leap high, Their roaring fury bringing doom to any trapped nearby, Devouring, evil, fearful flames, lunge high into the sky! Engulfing houses in their path, trapped people there will die! Feel the bushfire’s hellish heat; hear its mighty roar! See red-hot flames a-leaping high devouring all before! But when at last the bushfire’s past, that all consuming foe, When all is calm and still again, and embers lose their glow, Charcoal blackened leafless trees will soon green leaves regrow, And dormant seeds will sprout with rain, for next spring’s flower-show! (II) Autumn In autumn’s cool and pleasant days, the bush is really dry. Desperately plants cling to life, hope autumn rains are nigh, As sleeping seeds lie secretly, well hidden in the earth, Awaiting their awakening when rains bring life’s rebirth. When summer’s drought is near on spent, and winter’s drawing near, Some gently falling wetting rain abates the dried plants fear, And thirsty roots can drink at last; pass on to leaves their fill, Reviving ill and ailing plants; near death; for drought can kill. Sleeping seeds awake to sip, burst forth with newborn green, Shoots struggle up to fight for light, and life they’ve never seen, But many tender shoots will die, and not the bush enhance, For life is for the fittest few, and those well placed by chance. It’s an autumn resurrection, a season of new birth, When miracles of leaf and life spring forth from lifeless earth. With dynamic growth the bush will surge, and not to life just cling, And beauty will abound again, in the flower show next spring. (III) Winter In winter time the rains come down, hot drought has long since past, The clouds rain down the bush’s needs; good times have come at last. The weather’s cold but mildly so; plants have no fear of snow, With sunshine not a rare event, it makes the bushland grow. But winter has a darker side, which too soon must begin, All is far from mild and pleasant, when winter storms crash in. The wild winds sweep with roaring gusts, smashing brittle boughs, And supple plants bend to the ground, as if to make their vows. Thunder’s growl and thunder’s blast, fast follows lightning’s flash! And trees struck down by lighting fast to the ground will crash! Rain buckets down in litre drops, with little space between! As flash floods surge from bursting creeks to drown the sorry scene! But winter in its milder moods is kindly to the land And to the thriving pregnant bush, extends a helping hand. The plants then swell with flower buds, rare beauty deep within, And with the coming winter’s end, spring flowers will begin! (IV) Spring When winter’s cold and storms are past, as after night comes morning, The longer days and sunny warmth, announce a new spring dawning, Each sunrise stirs the mildest breeze, to gently fan the earth, As pregnant buds in winter formed, to flowers at last give birth. Bright everlastings mass the earth, hide all last trace of soil, Producing seed for future years, their annual endless toil. Velvet ‘roo paws, red and green, or richest yellow gold, Entrance the human passer by with architecture bold. Little treasures, orchids rare, peek up through litter deep, As golden wattle fluff-balls small, their year’s appointment keep. Myriad other flower kinds seduce the viewer’s gaze, A multicoloured floral feast; from pastel to gaudy blaze. But alas such beauty cannot last, though it serves its purpose well, For as flowers fade and wither, new seeds begin to swell, Then poets marvel at the scene, and sense things in their hearts, And see not only chance and change, but God mirrored in such art! |
 |
| Body Language Silently you say begin; I do. I read your every wish, no need for words, blue eyes beckoning – I follow. Then love and lust and tenderness, become entwined, as one. |