Beside the Road to War

Like a currawong’s wing
combing tangles of air
or the pulse of waterskin on this sated lake
……………………let me be lazy.

Beside the bat-squeal shift, pitch fruits of a roosting tree
twigs accrete by the hand’s-span brook…
a minute dam of tadpole consequence.
……………………White cockatoos weed, grumble –
……………………we cannot ask for still
……………………so let me be lazy.

Stock markets crumple then soar,
money gibbers around the globe.
Roads stretch to fit our waistlines
as soldiers camp on contended land.
The Cyrillic of white
on the black swan’s wing
is no battle plan for any general.
……….But my eyes are indolent,
……….those paths won’t crack the world.

A cranky call from the water hen to planes overhead
then I am back amongst gesticulated argument
still based in the caves –
“we need more”, “they want ours”. Greed and Fear again.

Willows trawl the lake,
eels archive the histories of mud.
Time to replace the tribal gods –
they’ve started and won every war.
……….The Peoples of the Book
……….should throw those books away.
……………………There comes a time when blood …………outweighs the ink.

I have painted all the pretty specks
done the overstand, then
the understand… without illuminates or audience.
My father is dead,
let the wet-coal tortoises mind the plinth;
we’ll sing our hymns to fish.

A seagull is whisking a cloud in the shallows –
your sleep is disturbed! You’re lunch!
What surrounds us is not serene.
Crows are singing Little Lamb, each
weed is a contest.
But it’s the violence of the blinking eye, hum of the skin.

Chain each man of power to weathered wooden benches
until the infusion of birdcall subdues their hands.
……….Immobilised eyelids will surrender
……….to a day of casual forage.

It’s simplistic to say
simplistic to deny
we need peacekeepers
to patrol our heads. With lazy as our prayer,
train ourselves to say enough. Intelligence will listen
as each day becomes
its own statement of intent.

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