ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

Whew! just made it
This is a poem that that revisits the same scene of an earlier poem,
Recently posted on members poetry.

THE PILGRIMAGE
The journey back was overdue, if just for peace of mind,
for something seemed to tell me there were answers still to find.
I never had forgotten it, that plaque upon the hill,
the memory stayed with me and I guess it always will.

The track had all but disappeared, since last I passed this way,
but little else had changed, the country just as dry and grey,
much as it had been on that visit, all those years ago,
while searching for a rumoured, long forgotten golden show.

The breakaways came into view and shimmered in the heat,
a crumbling vast reminder where the past and present meet.
Then just ahead that special ridge that draws me back once more,
to try and make some sense of what I’d seen here long before.

Despite the passing of the years the scene remained the same,
the Cairn again had beckoned like the first time that I came.
It hides a plaque erected for a fallen soldier there
and care had once been taken – it was placed with loving care.

And as I stood before that plaque and read the words again,
I sensed a special love here for this dry and dusty plain.
They told about a soldier who had marched away to war
and lost his life in battle on a distant foreign shore.

The Dusk was slowly creeping in; the heat of day moved on,
now that the sun was setting and the harshness all but gone.
Again just like the first time, I now wondered why out here,
And yet, I’m sure the answer is here somewhere – somewhere near.

That night around the campfire I had placed a second chair,
to honour that young soldier who had long ago been there.
He’d no doubt camped here once, beneath these outback starry skies,
and heard the night-time whispers and the chilling wild dog cries.

I left again next morning, and no wiser than before,
still thinking of this soldier who had lost his life at war.
To me this place is special even as its past grows dim
it’s also dry and dusty, but it meant a lot to him.

©T.E. Piggott

Love it, Terry. Your wonderful gift of imagery takes me there as always and the story is so poignant. I love the part about setting up a second chair - this is beautifully told and gives me goose bumps.

Thanks Catherine
I had to cut it short because I was running out of time for this month,
but I will finish it.
It was meant to be a short homework poem that sort of got out of control.

Terry

Good one Terry, it has special reflective moments, and you have brought the reader to feel the sense of place and loss.

Thanks Neville

Almost run out of time on this one

Terry

Oh well done Terry - you never run out of time here- nothing is set in concrete - and I love your poem. I like the idea of setting out the chair for the bloke who is no longer there, but whose presence lingered on. Always interesting to think on who may have walked the land before us, we are just following in someone else's footprints wherever we go in this land. Did they see what we see? Think the same as wa are thinking? I wonder a lot about things like that, not sure why

Oh well done Terry - you never run out of time here- nothing is set in concrete - and I love your poem. I like the idea of setting out the chair for the bloke who is no longer there, but whose presence lingered on. Always interesting to think on who may have walked the land before us, we are just following in someone else's footprints wherever we go in this land. Did they see what we see? Think the same as we are thinking? I wonder a lot about things like that, not sure why

Thanks Maureen

I understand exactly what you're saying.
I have always had the sense of following in the footsteps of those who passed this way before.
Particularly in the remote areas. It might just be me, but I notice this more out bush where outside distraction are few.

I know there is no time limit, but these days I feel it's important to try and contribute in some small way to this forum.
There are so few of us left now who post on the various sections here, and though most of us have never met in person,
I at least feel a sense of comradeship with those who are still here - the last of the last sort of thing, and it seems important to keep in touch.

Terry

As Catherine says, Terry, some very evocative imagery here, written with your customary attention to detail.

Terry - Just an aside here - I sent you a message via your FB messenger. Another poet who I know, and she is a lovely lady, had read one of your poems and was so touched she recorded herself reading it on YouTube - I sent it over to you.
She is not terribly accomplished at using her computer and had no idea who wrote the poem and was asking for help ... she didn't 'search' to well.
She was worried you would take offence and I assured her you wouldn't - hope I'm right. Her name is Livia York .. she is a performer on the Gold Coast with her husband, cabarets and such.
Just letting you know in case you haven't yet found the message on messenger.

Cheers,

Maureen