Poems of Place

Broadmeadow Station

Broken glass

scattered in the subway

grit glitters

like jewels in the concrete floor

thick with grime and grease

of a thousand footsteps

A  coal train rumbles overhead

I hear it all the way to Gunnedah

People wait

and wait

for loved ones on the Sydney train

Dropped torn tickets

kisses, hugs

Walk out laughing

Arm in arm

Embraces

The platform once more deserted

I walk alone through the subway

Kicking newspaper

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Voice from the City

I know a place

where a warm wood stove

melts the chill of the morning air

The pungent smell of green leaves burning

fills my nostrils

and the Sun takes up her miraculous brush

The Blue Range

The solace I seek is so near

as I gaze to the blue range

It waits

Beckoning me

to the finality of its embrace

But I grow afraid

and run back

from the honesty

of stone and forest

like a suckling child

to the warm breast of humanity

My tears

reflect your horizon

as you watch my foolish game

My anger

echoes like an insane wind through your gorges

My frustration

rings hollow from indifferent stone

But this means nothing to you

Lying ancient and unconcerned

under your robe of forest

Concealing eternity

Answering no one

Your closeness haunts me

but your peace is denied me

I reach out

to touch your serenity

and feel only the empty breeze

Cringing on the bare hillside

I look inward

and outward again

and see nothing

but the blue range

The setting sun lines every spur with gold

Beauty envelopes me

and I cower under its purple shadow

Thora

Oct 1983


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