poem: blue tide


Blue tide


The little chapel packed with suited men,

The funeral of a cousin’s wife. Old school

They were, but fallen on hard times. And she

A pleasant woman, big and friendly, though

I didn’t know her well; so I listened hard

To stories told about her life: fine wife

And mother, baked a lot of cakes. She ran

The mothers’ club at school as had my aunt

The family matriarch. She baked a lot

Of cakes, her door was always open; life

Of serving family, honoured here by tribe

With reverence, joy and sadness. So it seemed

To me these older folk were honouring

What they believed a woman’s life should be.

And thus there loomed another hidden grief,

Though few that sang would cry for other than

A decent life well lived, cut short too soon.


Another time was represented here

Today, and yet in Oz we have a blue

PM, a rabid blue ascendancy.

The miners and big business have the ear

Of our top bloke – it’s said they run the show.

He’s bringing back old British gongs and soon

Will ditch our efforts aimed at climate change

Abatement, start again the wars with greens

And unions, lay the forests waste. Blue tide

Cannot be stopped it seems, but tides go out

Again. Strange way to run a country, back

And forward with progress and reaction – give

A thought to better models, aimed at gains

That last, bipartisan approaches held

In democratic process for the ages.




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