Poetry Porch: Poetry


by Chris Wallace-Crabbe

From peasoup hue to coastal silvering
the broad creek slides and shivers,
having for a clammy sleeve,
            dark swamp
                       under this abstract orchestra of paperbarks, elegantly trunked,
                       their crests all a-twitter
                       the ground far more lethargic.

As you go woodenly treading,
                       grizzled sand bulges up through this muddiness,
                       respectable waterhens are paddling
                       their little gondolas along,
                       sounding the horn,
           black duck beat
                       water like an Irish washerwoman
                       while the boobialla has rocket
                                             explosions of leaf.

Brookweed and seablite dither nearby,
                       hardly calling for notice
                       but now the metallic gum-tops are rattling
                                                          far overhead,
                       banksias do the baroque in style
                       (they pay continuing tribute to Cook and
            that yuppie Sir Joseph)
                       while a supercilious magpie
                                                          gargles beyond it all.

The sand is yellowing:

We near the sea
which is too vast and swollen to be taking
            any notice at all
of nation, hemisphere, or history.

Copyright © 2007 by Chris Wallace-Crabbe