Ayers Rock

Flames flickering in the indigo night,
Dancing, they light the circle of faces.

Alongside Oolera, earlier painted blood-red
By the setting sun and visited by Wanambi
The rainbow serpent, - now lies dark and quiet,
Listening to the murmurings, watching for the spirits
That will surely arrive.
From the distant domes of Katajuta,
Across the Valley of the Winds.

The circle of faces, the droonoodoo,
Whispers of the rain man, Pakadringa,
And of Tya, Doowi and Alcheringa, -
The Aborigine Dreamtime.

Whitsunday Nineteen Ninety-Five

Silence, pierced only by the seagulls cry,
Jagged rocks sculptured by the wind and sea,
Tenacious thrift clinging to the rock,
Their heads, magenta, nodding to the breeze.
Stones, now scattered, evidence of the Picts,
Grazing cattle studying the sea.

Did we pass through some unseen barrier
To arrive in this timeless, silent scene?
Footprints vanish in the rebounding turf,
We leave no trace that we have ever been.

Defiant land, sea, unclouded heaven,
From this vantage point, given a clear day,
Ancient kingdoms, it's said, - seven,
Can be seen from here, Mull of Galloway.