Today's post was inspired by an Australian article:
Attorney-General George Brandis busted reading poetry books during estimates hearing.
"Faced with boredom after a tedious day in Senate estimates, the self-described 'Minister for Books' delved into a volume of Australian bush poetry during a Wednesday evening hearing of the Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade Committee, according to footage viewed by Fairfax Media."
Time for a bush poem, I think. Australian Bush Poets Association explains:
"Australian Bush Poetry is metered and rhymed poetry about Australia, Australians and/or the Australian way of life."
This poem I'm sharing doesn't have the usual bush poem rhyme and meter, but I found it in a collection of bush poems and summer is on my mind:
by Louis Lavater
I am weary,
Weary of bracing myself against the sun’s hot hand;
I am weary, and I dream of cool places . . . .
I see a grassy couch
Under a canopy of leaves;
A reedy river murmers by,
Crooning an old, old melody
Tuned to a long-forgotten scale,
Made when the world was young.
Rolled to the river’s edge the hills lie fast asleep;
Pale stars slip o’er their ledge and sink into the deep:
Down in the deep they sink to slumbrous peace,
Down in the deep they drink the water of peace;
In the quiet deep they quench their fires in sleep
And drown in a cool green dream.
The sun insists his burning hand upon my head;
I am weary, and I dream of cool places.
Here's another bush poem. This one has an unexpected take on winter: Where Does the Winter Go? by Ethel Turner
Buffy is the Poetry Friday round-up host.