The arrival of the monsoon ― meant a town full of clean cars. but people kept buying imported water filling the damp winds with thirst and filling the rivers with empty bottles, floating by like dreams of escape parrots, dogs, cats, and mice making a beeline to the hills peeled wrappers, plastic bags and fruit skins surrender all is awash of senses, all is clean even beetles scurry with their now shiny armour while the rain falls and falls a cane toad hides in a potted palm tree the arrival of the monsoon in Melbourne enticed dugongs south, and the reef made silent flowers beneath the line of sight tis a pity the monsoon did not venture into Sydney’s wastrel music cigarette butt paths, cleansing – giving witness to new creations perhaps she is en route, somewhere far off, somewhere far from, somewhere lost on some other beaten track like a good time wild girl will, she is waylaid, last seen in wine country dimly drunk and blowsy with potential like Australia. Go away and cry a mean Australian rain to the monsoon that is woman and the drought that is man. I will not be emptied thus though my hips melt into the formless sea like a seal in an oilslick waking up in Ipswich or some such state of mind begat an outpouring of joy and singing, snakes swimming in the creeks being caught and threaded into lay
31.1: POST-EPIC
Released 1 December 2009 - 1 August 2010Index of Poems
Editor/ Producer: David Prater
Each of the poems in this issue starts with a line from a poem in EPIC. All lines are in fact comments that were added by readers. Scroll down each page to find out who wrote what! Or read the post-epic post-mortem.
meant a town full of clean cars. but people kept buying imported water
filling the damp winds with thirst
and filling the rivers with empty bottles, floating by like dreams of escape
parrots, dogs, cats, and mice making a beeline to the hills
peeled wrappers, plastic bags and fruit skins surrender
all is awash of senses, all is clean
even beetles scurry with their now shiny armour
while the rain falls and falls
a cane toad hides in a potted palm tree
the arrival of the monsoon in Melbourne enticed dugongs south, and the reef
made silent flowers beneath the line of sight
tis a pity the monsoon did not venture into Sydney's wastrel music cigarette butt paths, cleansing – giving witness to new creations
perhaps she is en route, somewhere far off, somewhere far from, somewhere lost on some other beaten track like a good time wild girl will, she is waylaid, last seen in wine country
dimly drunk and blowsy with potential
like Australia.
Go away and cry a mean Australian rain
to the monsoon that is woman and the drought that is man.
I will not be emptied thus
though my hips melt into the formless sea
like a seal in an oilslick
waking up in Ipswich or some such state of mind
begat an outpouring of joy and singing, snakes swimming in the creeks being caught and threaded into lay