ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

I've been longing for a place called 'Linga Longa'. A place dear to my heart that once was home.
Somewhere that I felt safe and so protected, and where I never ever felt alone.
I see it still so clearly in my memory,and my restless nights are filled with fervent prayer.
For it's my hope I will return to 'Linga Longa', and my dearest wish to find that you're still there.


For there is nothing in my life right now that I desire as much
as the feel of your strong arms and your always gentle touch.
With a big blue sky above me and a gentle country breeze
and a million stars at night time that my hunger will appease.
It is just a modest homestead on the lovely scenic rim
with a creek on the back boundary that invites you to jump in.
The traprock country's hard and rough, plays havoc with the tyres
and the road is rough and potholed but the scenery inspires.

So today I've thrown the towel in here and packed up the old Ute
and I'm heading west to country, where I can ride and shoot.
To open hilly country and fresh cool mountain air,
to animals, friends and family who all are waiting there.
And as the miles of bitumen are swallowed by the wheels
I feel my heart get lighter and God how good that feels.
I am throwing off the city ties and heading far out west,
to a place called 'Linga Longa' where my heart and soul can rest.

Another hour should see me on the dirt road heading home
to the acres of the homestead where the sheep and cattle roam.
Where wedgetails ride the thermals, and the magpies warbling call
heralds in the chilly mornings, with no cities foggy pall.
Morning dew trapped in the filaments of a spider’s web so fine
suspended on the post and rail … like diamonds glint and shine.
Where tracks cross dewy paddocks like a ribbon snake they wind
down the gullies to the waterhole – it's there the stock you'll find.


There it is, the single Ironbark on the hillside.
Standing gaunt and black, a solitary spire.
Many years ago it was shattered by lightning
but the rain extinguished all the trace of fire.
On the roadside I can see the old fridge standing,
the red flag gaily fluttering in the breeze,
and the sign that says ' Welcome to Linga Longa.
close the gate securely if you please '


The winding track leads onward to the front verandah, of the old homestead up upon the rise.
Fifteen pepperina trees are swaying softly. Now I can't see for teardrops in my eyes.
The dogs all chase the Ute and they are barking, they know it's me and know that I've returned
I'll never again leave 'Linga Longa' the one place for which my heart has yearned.

Maureen Clifford ©

Very well put bit of nostalgia Maureen. I liked it, wriiten just right.

I really like this one Maureen. For some reason as I was reading I had a lyric going with it in my mind. A fine poem to be put to music.


Cheers
Sue

Had to come back and have another look Maureen, you've done some really good stuff lately.

I think sometimes we make the mistake of trying too hard to explain to the reader how they ought to feel about our experience ( that's sentimentality ) and I suspect that weakens the poem, because it tries to project false emotion, something the reader really doesn't have.

I think if we just say what we know, true to our experience, as you have done here, it reaches the reader much more powerfully.

Thank you Sue and Neville...I'm a bit gobsmacked by your comment Neville but thank you most sincerely for it.

It was originally written as lyrics Sue but like you the music is in my head...someone one day might see something in it...one never knows

Cheers

Maureen