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My Billowing Tent

by | Jul 26, 2020 | Pilbara Dreaming Collection, Poetry Corner | 0 comments

My tent billows and tugs like a boat on an anchor rope.

The great easterly springs to life.

Cooling the scorched earth.

Tiny beads of moisture

make the gravel darker.

Dark shadows of the spinifex border the

path of desire setting my thoughts wandering,

out into the eternal vastness of the plains .

When in quiet contemplation I

remember those Pilbara heady days,

the barbs of ego highly


the spinifex blades

piercing my feet,

and laughter shook my soul.

The primal thrust and the basic source

Rippled bellies and their volcanic crust.

While old Frank keeps a humble watch

 his job to pump and plunge (the water bore)


The Alien homestead primal too.

Its doors and windows gone.

Wild throng visitation.

We are but here a while,

To inhabit this strange and eerie landscape.

brings up mad desires.


This morning there comes a calm

 and peaceful end ,

to all the mad wild thing

For love itself has entered through the door.

Out pouring in the landscape.

Unleashed the visitation upon the land.

Our primal instincts run ramped for

survival of the clan.

A wild band of little heroes ,

plunge into homemaking .

in the homesteads emply shell.

The Dark voluminous sky fractal pattern

reflect the chaos so.

The Art is done.

—Pilbara Dreaming Collection

—24 July 2010

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