© Bridh Hancock, 11 05 10
(Toora, Gippsland, Victoria)
Alien life-forms stand on the ridge above the town.
They tower above mines once sunk to seek tin.
Their three arms hum in the wind.
They watch and wait.
Beneath them, the land grow trees and grass which cattle crop,
Oblivious of anything alien or untoward and standing so close.
No humans seek tin, but all the world wants clean renewable energy: power!
These ‘alien life-forms’ await more sensible uses of their efforts.
The work of each ‘arm’ can be measured in tonnes of carbon not released.
They come from tomorrow, gleaming white, and smiling.
A Battery Rooster Laments
© Bridh Hancock, 16 04 10
My hens, my hens, all my pretty chookies:
I crow for you, for you’re very good-lookies.
You should be out there in the sun-light,
Or be with me and, err… ‘having fun’, right?
Or scratching and pecking and pooping and preening,
And growing fine feathers while busily dining;
But there you are crammed into wire containers
To lay lots of eggs in prison constrainers.
I lament for you, but lament for me, too.
What miserable lives are mine and my mates:
Basic board & lodgings with unnatural fates.
Being a rooster has lost its appeal
For, being a rooster, these deeds are real:
Paternally chatting with dear little chickies,
With plenty of chatting up spunky plump chookies;
But my roostering fellows have become feather dusters
Before any decent cocka-doostering was uttered.
I lament for them, but lament for me, too.
Tarra Bulga, Victoria
© Bridh Hancock, 11 5 10
To and from the Tarra Bulga National Park,
we passed the remains of a great pine plantation
that filled the hills and valleys with black and chalky gray.
An act of hatred become a statement of absolute loathing.
Sticks stood in a sea of ash; all else was gone.
Today I remember this harrowed, haunted and haunting sight.
Native plants burst forth in a green explosion of life;
sap its colour. I thought the land had been sterilized.
Grow or be gone: that is how it is.
© Bridh Hancock
Tasmanian Times Poetry Editor.
Tasmanian poets or those with a Tasmanian link are invited to send up to 5 poems which have not appeared previously in print or electronic media to:
For the complete collection, click here: Poetry, Peter Macrow