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Eden Earth
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Again the Eden-earth
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blazes before my eyes.
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In gold leaves, green
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blades, the gums rise.
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Blood-deep there, and
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there, on either hand,
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sculptured fires of
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chalice flowers stand.
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From the cliff-face
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hangs the pale shower,
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spray and spray of
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rock-lily in flower.
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And naked-cool to my
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palms are the limbs
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of the gums that hold
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orchids in their arms.
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Roland Robinson
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from Curracurrong Creek
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in “Grendel” 1967
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The Heath Country
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Symphonic clash, prelude to the
emergent day,
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a veritable fireworks display,
the Illawarra lilies shoot
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ten feet into the air and burst
crimson against the
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blue white sky.
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Imitation suns, they float above the undulating
earth.
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Red, green, yellow bells suspended in a tiny
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carillion, sway out no
tintinnabulation, yet extol the
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glory of the Creation.
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Native rose, far better than any garden-tamed
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pale imitation, burns in an
unconsuming conflagration,
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catches the heart cords with its
beauty.
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Look, here a bonsai garden. Tiny
stunted shrubs
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and trees draw up the clay earth spin it out into
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tiny pin-headed blossoms.
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Stretches away in isolation the heath country
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with its spaces that make
conversation die; giving rise to contemplation.
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Such a country in other ages
would have given rise to saints and sages.
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Suddenly along the rim of a low ridge a car
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glides by on an unseen road, and what was…
becomes a desolation.
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Somewhere high, a crow gives out
his murderous,
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melancholy, death accusation cry.
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Kevin D Cummings
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“The Waysider”
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November 1968
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