PHOENIX RISING
Posted: Sat Apr 16, 2011 9:02 am
PHOENIX RISING
Flattened and bruised with twisted stems, bluebells lay sodden, quite bereft
the eye of the storm had passed by - devastation, nothing left.
Uprooted palms and trees and shrubs were scattered there for all to see
and houses torn and cast aside, thrown from their stumps by low Yasi.
Where roads once ran, now water flowed – and mud and sand – a heavy load
that would take many hours to clear – if they could get trucks up the road.
But Yasi passed and life went on – and slowly folks returned to home
A new challenge for all awaits – rebuilding houses, sourcing loans,
The silent house with open door stands waiting for a brand new floor
the one nearby where tradesmen are – already sports wet paint and more.
I noticed running for a bus – the first sign of normality
and empty bottle in the street – more litter to add to the spree.
But up above the sky is blue, the surf rolls in on golden shores
and bluebells show their tiny heads in gardens once thought lost for sure.
Black cockatoos, not often seen here, fly above in breeding pairs
their food source further west destroyed – our casuarinas here were spared.
The bright red feathers in their tails, like fires flames flicker in sunlight.
Australia’s own Phoenix perhaps? They lived, honoured the sun in flight.
Now from the depths of devastation from the realms of dark despair
the undercurrent of the nation swells, and it seems everywhere
you look these days life is continuing as it does and as it should
for here we have the ANZAC spirit – stand together, ironwood.
We may have been bruised and battered, burnt and soaked and blown away.
Now we rise again together, rebuild , we’re Aussies – here to stay.
Maureen Clifford © 04/11
Flattened and bruised with twisted stems, bluebells lay sodden, quite bereft
the eye of the storm had passed by - devastation, nothing left.
Uprooted palms and trees and shrubs were scattered there for all to see
and houses torn and cast aside, thrown from their stumps by low Yasi.
Where roads once ran, now water flowed – and mud and sand – a heavy load
that would take many hours to clear – if they could get trucks up the road.
But Yasi passed and life went on – and slowly folks returned to home
A new challenge for all awaits – rebuilding houses, sourcing loans,
The silent house with open door stands waiting for a brand new floor
the one nearby where tradesmen are – already sports wet paint and more.
I noticed running for a bus – the first sign of normality
and empty bottle in the street – more litter to add to the spree.
But up above the sky is blue, the surf rolls in on golden shores
and bluebells show their tiny heads in gardens once thought lost for sure.
Black cockatoos, not often seen here, fly above in breeding pairs
their food source further west destroyed – our casuarinas here were spared.
The bright red feathers in their tails, like fires flames flicker in sunlight.
Australia’s own Phoenix perhaps? They lived, honoured the sun in flight.
Now from the depths of devastation from the realms of dark despair
the undercurrent of the nation swells, and it seems everywhere
you look these days life is continuing as it does and as it should
for here we have the ANZAC spirit – stand together, ironwood.
We may have been bruised and battered, burnt and soaked and blown away.
Now we rise again together, rebuild , we’re Aussies – here to stay.
Maureen Clifford © 04/11