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Updated 07 March 2006

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  Issue 13 03/2006
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THE FIRE

SPECULATION

 The cold, bitter breeze howls in the distance as the sun starts to set.

The weary traveller pauses for a moment or two,

Exhausted, he continues on his journey frantic for a place to rest.

Travelling since dawn, he creeps upon the grass once damp from the silver morning dew.

 

The swagger looks up at the luminous sun,

And squints as the very last of it fades out of sight,

Then pulls out his rugged swag,

And settles down for the night.

 

The fire crackles;

And goes out,

But the man simply turns over in his sleep.

Unaware of the hidden danger about.

 

The twigs and leaves rustle,

red glowing coals scatter everywhere, as the fire transforms to life.

But the swagger just keeps on sleeping,

He is going to be in strife!

 

The fire roars through the forest,

Destroying everything in it’s sight.

Until it comes to a river bed,

And decides to call it a night.

 

The cold deathly breeze shrieks in the distance as the sun starts to rise.

Though it is a new day, the effects from the previous night have shown.

The forest, once beautiful and full of life is now a shred.

And the traveller, once healthy and alive, due to his actions, is now dead. 

 

© Melanie, Ingham, Australia 2006

 

 

There seems to be some speculation,

   About the reefs around this Nation.

 

   Scientist thoughts are quite outreaching,

   Our reefs will die from coral bleaching.

 

   50 years before it dies,

   The latest scientific cries.

 

   The “Crown of thorns” another thrust,

   Rid the reef of them we must.

 

   Stop the farmers using stuff,

   Seems to me a little tough.

 

   Ships near reef shall not transgress,

   Or it will cause a lot of stress.

 

   Fishers must all stay at home,

   And leave the reef we have alone.

 

   Let’s remember the past and the speculation,

   How the ice would melt and flood this nation.

 

   How petrol stocks would run quite dry,

   Another scientific cry.

 

   Kangaroo’s would become extinct,

   Is this all true? Not yet I think!

   “MORE SCIENTIFIC CRAP”

© Roy Evans, Ingham, Australia 2006

COLORFUL EQUITY

THE TIME

We are all equal,

In many many ways possible.

We live together as humans,

We struggle for survival in society;

We breathe,

We bleed,

We can walk,

We can talk,

Fascinating how similar we all really are.

We all have a family,

A culture,

A religion,

A background,

One small difference in colour is not an excuse to cause racial conflict.

We all need each other to survive, to paint a colorful picture of the world we live in today. 

© Melanie, Ingham, Australia 2006

There comes a time for all of us when

God will take our hand,

Leading us along the path to his own Promised Land.

 We dare to cry and shed a tear, as love

one’s pass us by,

The sign of love is truly shown when Tears drop from our eye.

Remember then the gift of love, and Hold it in your heart,

Being ever stronger the time we are apart.

 

Written for those that loose a “Dear one”

And to know we are all dear ones to Somebody 


© Roy Evans, Ingham, Australia 2006

IN HONOUR OF ALEC CAMPBELL AND HIS ANZAC MATES

DRIFTING

They fought for us in Gallipoli all those years ago,

The loss of life of Anzacs, and their fighting foe.

 

They fought, yes in Gallipoli and all those worldly places,

Protection of Australians, and many other races.

 

In the month of April we stand, the nation wide,

Honouring our Anzacs that gave our country pride.

 

T’was in the month of May the year 2002,

Our last Gallipolian Anzac left the world of me and you.

 

He leaves behind a memory for our

Future generation,

 

“THE SPIRIT OF THE ANZAC”

Of this Australian Nation.

 

Written in celebration of the Anzac’s

© Roy Evans, Ingham, Australia 2006

You’ve weighed your anchor, left me to this world; it’s said I should be glad for where you’ve gone.

We fell in love that year when we unfurled
new canvas, sounded calmer seas. We shone
a light into each other’s gloom, swept past
the rocks that sought to drag us down; the teeth of former storms had lost their bite. We cast our lines and feasted on the catch beneath.

But now you’re gone. Like siren songs in tales, you’re called; you answer to a voice
you can’t resist. I luff along the swales
and empty docks to rail about His choice.

I walk the planks where once, we’d sway together, your memory my hardtack for all weather.


© Alan Blake, Australia 2006

 
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