Poem of the Day

My Response to the River Prompt of Australian Children’s Poetry Blog

FranklinRiverAndrewMatthews
Franklin River – Andrew Matthews some rights reserved.

Australian Children's Poetry

Three Trips Down the River

I  – A  Bed Time Story

Rainforest children fall

Into green dreams

Visions

Embracing nature’s eyes

Releasing their love for salmon.

 

II-  Night Time Wishing

Releasing time

In my heart for

Visions of night fishing with Poppy

Evenings of searching for the perfect spot

Remembering our smiles at my first catch.

III –  The Franklin

Revealing wild rivers

In the journeys they inspire

Visions for tourist and visitors

Entranced by nature’s eyes

Recipes are made for protective renewal.

June Perkins

June said: I wanted to work with the idea of three ways to think about the river: Prompt #19.

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Island Borders – Journal poems 1995

fieldtasmania
Fields of Tasmania (c) June Perkins

Inspired by Ali’s post I am exploring some of my journal poems going back to 25 years ago. I found a black journal with a red spine with an index to poetry pages. The year was 1995.

Island Borders
push in around my soul
squeezing out the joy
I found in you.

Labels of types could
spring so easily to mind.

The thought of leaving this place
could rid me of this insecure need
for island borders.

Here I know people
who spend all their time in one town,
rarely venturing out 50 kilometres beyond
what they know.
I know people who will never experience
aeroplane flight.

Here I know growing
country towns with pubs and
new shopping centres
young families broken
elderly people retired
at Sandy Bay. Young drunks
who hang out in Launceston’s City Mall
on Saturday nights
and at Milk bars along the Midlands.

Some people are kind
and others push you if you’re black
and your boyfriend is white;
they pull your hands away with such hate.
They still believe in the ‘Black line’

And they believe these lush green hills were
always theirs to own because of their birth right
because of their colour.
Theirs, theirs,
not yours or mine.

They can have their island borders
parameters and lines
and flat earth
their labels and types
their black line
their country pubs
their hate.

I will find a joy
not in place
but in spirit
a new love
a new dream
where everywhere is home
there are no borders, no islands
lines on my map disappear.

(c) June Perkins

The Forests Speak

For the Tasmanian Forests

In my slow growing long lasting huon
There are the stories of your grandfather’s hands
And gaze taking me all in

I carry you in my arms to the safety of Earth mother to
Shield you from storms and yet you would
Forget
I belong to your children and grandchildren

Would you unfriend my many shades of green
Lime and moss on rolling hills
See them parched yellow crying
Stripped pine

Would you delist me from your protection
Hold me at a distance
Forget that I am your breath
Forget my distinct scent
In timber in new life as your love seat

Would you let me be overharvested
So people of today are the last ones
To say they saw the Ancients
Who had to make way for too many tree farms

Together we braved the tempest
Of droughts and fires
And as we survive should not our
Bond be stronger?

Would you lie down in
My green tears
To cleanse your heart?

Could you learn to bless me
Let me be the forest at your back
The open arms that
Lovers long for?

(c) June Perkins