ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

DARK CLOUDS - SILVER LININGS ...Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBark Poet

A grey horizon loomed ahead, the precursor of rain
although he'd seen it many times, and doubtless would again
they needed more than sprinkled showers, they needed more than prayers
in fact they needed just so much he thought the bloke upstairs
would probably have a dummy spit and suffer mental strain.

No doubt the calls for help were constant each and every day,
and blokes who never went to church would now earnestly pray
for relief from the angst they felt, for some sign of redemption,
for strength to carry on each day and somehow comprehension,
of growing anger hard to hold and hard to keep at bay.

There was a time when once they claimed it only took the knack
of common sense ... and even one hand tied behind their back
would not be an impediment, they'd do it in their sleep,
but now alas, they'd lost the plot - sad to see grown men weep
to watch them fall and founder to a snide panic attack.

He'd had a nightmare of a day, in fact a bastard year,
he'd sold off all his breeders and the horses he held dear.
Foreclosure notice in the mail - the final bloody straw
he kicked the dusty paddock , asked the bloke upstairs "What for?"
In answer lightning flickered, thunder grumbled - sounding near.

Dark brooding cumulus clouds raced, old Thor made the earth tremble
he called on Jupiter and Zeuss - demanded they assemble.
Birrahgnooloo too heard the call - Tiddalik laughed in glee.
The bloke upstairs said "think on this - I sent them all to thee"
and from the heavens slowly fell the balm of summer rain.

It fell, big plops raising the dust, and washing dust from faces
and tears as well, as many fell to ground in many places.
It fell down slow and steady and the loud reverberation
of thunder rolled around the hills, a cause for celebration,
as pain and fear and black despair with fresh hope it replaces.

You're right there Maureen - rain certainly brings hope!

It is a hard thing, I think, to say something new about drought, it has been such a constant feature of the Australian experience.
Patrick Hartigan's take ( Said Hanrahan ) was that drought was inevitable but would always be relieved " in God's good time ". Perhaps' Hanrahan's pessimism is warranted in these latter times , God's good time seems a long time arriving .

I see Maureen that you have named some names but " the bloke upstairs" is unnamed . I wondered about that.

My ex always claimed it rained at the end of a drought - and true enough it always did but as you say Neville hard to write about drought using fresh descriptions - it has all been said before many times over.

The bloke upstairs is the 'being' I relate to - I am not technically a Christian - I don't go to church, I don't pray but have been known on occasions to have a chat with the bloke upstairs. Who that is I don't rightly know, could be just relatives of mine who have gone on ahead, could be a being from another galaxy, it has sometimes been noted that when God created Man she made a mistake, so even the sex of the person in the upstairs flat is in question in my eyes. If I respect anyone I guess Mother Nature is my first choice so it could even perhaps be her I refer to. Huey pops into mind as well, although he seems to have been absent for a long time

Hi Maureen

They're getting plenty further north at the moment, been a mild summer here so far with just the odd hot day.

But back to your poem; A Cocky's life can be a hard one at times; so dependant on the weather, but few would willingly change it.

They know that if they hang in there, sooner or later the rain will come.


Interesting Rhyming pattern you have used here as well.


Cheers


Terry