It’s silent today.
The crows sit still in wire trees
and wait.
no wind
no rain
just the drone silence makes
– and the blistering heat.
Here, in this ancient land
the search for meaning and lost reasons,
evaporate.
what is,
is all there will be.
complete
and whole
and endlessly deep
And on the banks of old Nerang,
the stream,
now no more than an open wound,
slithers and clots in shallow pools.
Weowie, the river spirit, lies sleeping
excellent.
Thanks Rainey. I might add to this later because I’m fascinated with the harsh, cruel, beauty of the Australian outback, the warping of time in aboriginal Dreamtime stories and the simple but profound non-religious, spirituality of white settlers as they become absorbed into the land.
Somewhere in the middle, all three overlap and melt together. It’s this state of consciousness I want to capture… somehow. 
you’ve conveyed this well.
yes, add to it. you can capture the state of consciousness of which you speak. i’m sure of it.
Very nice. I give it a 9 1/2, but it was kind of hard to dance to. Some more bass and piano would be nice. 
Hey Bess, this is a poem – P.O.E.M. – for cricky’s sake not lyrics for some rock 'n roll garbage. 
(Thanks for the 9.5 though - I wonder what I would have got if I threw in a few “I love you baby, you drive me crazy” lines?)
Oh, yes… you’ve got my number. Hold still and let me tighten those braces. It will only take a minute.
You know, I was thinking, (yea someone ought to stop me from doing that), it might be interesting to throw all three verses into one poem, same order and all, I think it would be a really nice trip for any reader to take to read them sussesivly without break. Well, just chew on the idea, will ya?
Oh, oh, yea, I’m getting picky now, would it be better if you said: “sit on wire trees,” rather than, “sit in wire trees?” Or am I missing something? Please enlighten.
I think you’re right about allowing it to flow without breaks, TUM, though I’m not sure about the ‘crows on the trees’ bit. Crows are part of aboriginal Dreamtime so there’s a bit of symbolism here that’s too detailed to go into except to say a) the Crow was initially a man and b) “in” is how aborigines see it and “on” is how a westerner see it.
Anyway, looking back after several days, I’m not real happy with the poem mainly because I went about it the wrong way. Normally I like to start with a voice or style, but this time I gathered lines from pages and pages I wrote on a recent visit (and memories), then tried to force them together into one short poem…arghhhh. Thanks for your suggestions TUM.
(Bessy, leave those braces alone. They’re about to come off soon, then I’m getting my eyes done… or maybe some cheek implants.)
Yea, you’re right. I was actually visualizing the birds sitting on telephone wires connected to the trees, rather than going with poetic interpertation for some reason. Always so difficult to truly dicern what the author intends, eh?
As far as this goes however, I don’t think that that’s an altogether bad method. I remember reading some poetic criticism by a famous poet in my lit text book, who had the theory that a poet shouldn’t be consciously aware of the meter or style of the poem until he was at least several lines into it. Well, at least, that’s how he wrote poetry. Sorry, forget precisly who it was.
p.s.
I re-read it all again and still like it. I don’t think you ought to be so harsh on yourself with this piece - the things we write are never close in expressing what we truly want them to express; well, at least, that’s how I feel. Maybe I’m wrong. Poe felt he could use language to express anything he desired. Who knows?