ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

Don’t ask me to explain how the current prompts led me down this particular path, Maureen - because I haven’t a clue!!

Henry Lawson’s abortive relocation to London at the turn of the 20th century may have been creatively productive in some respects, but it was an unhappy time for him and his family, and destined to be short-lived.

LAWSON IN LONDON
(c) Shelley Hansen 8/2/18

You’re shaking with a shiver as a mist lifts off a river
reflecting back the city lights at night.
Your mind is fixed on work
but your heart is back o’ Bourke
and longs to tell the stories of the plight

of farmers and their cattle, and the dusty, weary battle
through years of drought that end with too much rain.
The house where you were born
rises sharply to adorn
sweet memories that take you back again.

Each window pane reflection is a frame of recollection,
the scent of nutmeg wafts from custard pies.
Your mother’s work-worn hands
proof that someone understands
the loneliness that flows from tear-filled eyes.

Her perfume’s silken essence seems to conjure up her presence
you listen to her poetry once more.
Some want three wishes, son,
but your soul craves only one ...
turn homeward, Henry, to Australia’s shore.

Doesn't matter Shelley - it is beautiful and who is there to say it is untrue - perhaps Henry was your muse and wanted this part of his story told and who better to choose than you . You have made great use of the prompts with this intriguing poem and the rhyming scheme works so well with it as well. Well done you - I love it.

Thanks so much Maureen!

Beautifully done, Shelley. You've covered the prompts well, and I really like that structure.

Cheers
David

Thank you David

This is wonderful Shelley, and a most original use of those prompts - very clever!

Thanks so much Catherine.

In high school we had a one act play written by Oriel Gray and simply called “Lawson”. I read it again before writing the poem. Yes, I still have my book!

I remember playing the part of the ballad singer and having to set extracts of Henry’s poems to music and sing them. I still remember them! The play unfolded with Henry in a foggy London, wandering aimlessly, homesick, and running into personifications of the characters he had created.

Somehow Maureen’s prompts just seemed to fit the situation.

Cheers
Shelley

Yes I think it's beautiful as well Shelly,
a lovely descriptive poem, well worth extending into a comp poem I reckon.

Terry

Wow, thanks Terry. That’s high praise ... maybe I will squirrel it away and see if I get the urge to expand it at some point.

Cheers
Shelley